


Transposed

by brightened



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 34,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightened/pseuds/brightened
Summary: Sirius Black wakes up in Snape’s quarters, puts on Snape’s slippers and, horrifyingly, looks into a mirror to see Snape’s face.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 46
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I started writing this I thought it would basically be a short little silly piece. It took on a life of its own and grew into a re-imagining of years 5-7. I’m posting a chapter a day (sometimes two) until I’ve finished writing and then I will post the rest at once.

Sirius pushed his face deeper into the cool fabric of his pillow and tried to decipher why drinking so much Firewhiskey had seemed such a good idea. There wasn’t much else to do, true, and Remus had been around which was both great and...not. It was a difficult thing to be around the man that represented the time in his life when he hadn’t yet lost everything.

So he’d drank too much to smother all the overwhelming and complicated feelings. Did that mean he deserved to suffer such a pounding headache? Surely not.

Sirius grumbled among his sheets for a moment longer and then heaved himself out of bed. Rather than the soft carpet of his bedroom, his toes touched something frigid and hard. Sirius drew his feet up instinctively and peered down at the floor. He was greeted with smooth stone and a pair of unfamiliar slippers. 

Not wanting to add frostbite to his list of ailments, Sirius shoved his feet into the slippers. It was only as he plodded across the room that he considered he could be in danger. He tried to dredge up some fear or at least hesitation. All he really cared about in that moment was finding a potion to cure his hangover.

Sirius opened a door and found a closet containing several pairs of black robes. Boring. He shut that door and moved to the next one. That door swung open to reveal a toilet which all at once made Sirius realize he desperately needed to use it. He fumbled his way through peeing - morning wood always made the task difficult and something just seemed...off. 

Sirius turned, planning to leave without washing his hands like the mongrel he was, and a harsh noise of surprise escaped his lips. Severus Snape was standing in the bathroom staring at him.

“The fuck are you doing, Snivellus?” Sirius barked and as he spoke Snape’s mouth moved in sync.

Sirius glanced down at his crotch and back up at Snape. Then down again and with a strangled yelp he pulled the front of the unfamiliar boxers down. He’d been _circumcised_. Only this was a well-healed circumcision and besides that, pained though he was to admit it, this dick was noticeably larger than his own.

Sirius looked back up once more. Snape’s movements mirrored his own.

“I’m looking in a fucking mirror,” Sirius said and felt a horrified twist in his gut. He’d been...Transfigured? Polyjuiced? Some sort of awful trick had been played on him in his vulnerable state and now he knew what Snape’s penis looked like. 

Sirius solemnly swore to hunt down whoever was responsible for this and make them suffer, physically and mentally.

As Sirius crossed back into the bedroom, still with filthy unwashed hands, he noticed a few things. There was a desk and on that desk stood a stack of high level Potions texts, a veritable tower of what appeared to be student essays, and a figurine of a coiled up snake. By the bed there was a nightstand on which there was a small framed picture of a severe looking woman. Sirius went back to the closet and reaffirmed all the robes were the same style and color.

Someone had not only bewitched him but managed to smuggle him into Snape’s quarters as well. 

That begged the question as to where Snape was but frankly Sirius had more pressing issues so he shoved that thought aside and focused instead on dressing himself in a pair of Snape’s robes. Surely the bastard would prefer that over Sirius parading his nearly-naked body around the castle.

As the image played out in his mind, Sirius was sorely tempted to actually do just that. A little Snivellus humiliation was never remiss. But it was rather cold and his head still hurt. 

In the end Sirius walked out to the dungeon corridors fully dressed. He’d also grabbed Snape’s wand from where he’d found it on a stand by the exit. It was the sight of the unattended wand that convinced him he should go speak to Dumbledore. If Snape was somewhere without his wand, that could very well mean something horrible was happening to him. 

Sirius practiced faking concern as he made the trek to the headmaster’s office.

He was thwarted immediately by the gargoyles who refused to admit him entrance without the password. Sirius, having spent the last five months confined to Grimmauld Place, did not know the password. He banged on the gargoyles a few times, uselessly, and shouted a few choice words but eventually he admitted (temporary) defeat.

If Dumbledore wasn’t an option, Sirius would just go home. Someone else would figure it out somewhere at some time. Not like Snape was worth any sort of trouble. Sirius would simply go home and wait for the enchantment to end and...continue his indefinite house arrest.

All at once Sirius saw the transformation for what it was. A chance at freedom. He could go anywhere and do anything. Snape was not a wanted escaped convict, although how unfair was that, really, when he’d been the actual Death Eater?

Well, in that moment none of it mattered. Sirius was going to use Snape’s appearance to his advantage, much as he could. It was a Saturday - he had a whole weekend ahead of him, if the spell lasted that long. And if it did then Sirius would present himself to Dumbledore at Monday’s breakfast and everything would be solved then anyway.

Satisfied with this plan, Sirius hurriedly made his way into Hogsmeade and past the anti-Apparition wards. With only a moment of consideration, he spun on his heel and Apparated for the first time in far too long.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning, Sirius woke with a splitting headache to rival his previous one and he once again mulled over the poor decisions that had led him to his current situation. 

The woman next to him stirred although she did not wake and looking at her Sirius felt that perhaps not _all_ his decisions were bad. He’d met Nadine Saturday night when he’d Apparated to a wizarding pub in Berlin. Sirius had the strong suspicion she knew English perfectly well but she’d feigned ignorance during Sirius’s many attempts to speak to her. Eventually, communicating mostly through hand gestures, they’d gone to bed, woken up together Sunday, and partied the rest of the day and night away.

It felt more than a little odd to fuck while looking like someone else and especially when that someone was Snivellus. That was where the inebriation came in handy. 

They’d ended up in her flat, best he could tell. He dressed and then dug through her things until he located a quill and paper. He jotted a quick note to the sleeping woman before slipping out into the hallway. He didn’t want to disturb her with the crack of Disapparition.

Roughly an hour later he approached Dumbledore at the staff table just as he’d planned. He mentally patted himself on the back for being responsible and not simply slipping away into another country.

“Good morning, Severus,” Dumbledore said pleasantly as he buttered a slice of toast. “How was your weekend?”

The old bastard knew, of course. He nodded calmly as Sirius rattled off a highly edited tale of the past 48 hours. He took a bite of his toast and as he chewed he brushed crumbs out of his beard.

“I did receive an owl from someone claiming to be Severus Snape. Even through the parchment I could tell he was quite distressed. I set a meeting with him at Grimmauld Place this evening. I assume you have no other obligations?”

“This evening?” Sirius repeated. “Why not right now?”

“Why, Severus, you have classes to teach.” Dumbledore took another bite of toast.

“I can’t teach,” Sirius said uncertainly.

“Ah. If only you’d come to me sooner, we could have resolved the whole thing without needing to continue the charade. As it is, with Dolores Umbridge and by extension Minister Fudge so closely monitoring the school, there is no possible way I can cancel Potions for the day. It would invite far too much scrutiny. Thus you will need to play the part until we can escape unnoticed. Do you understand?”

Sirius felt his lip curl and the old urge to rebel against authority bubbled furiously inside him. Who was Dumbledore to punish him for having some fun when he could? He didn’t know what it was like, to go from hellish imprisonment to confinement that seemed determined to bore him to death. It was easy for him to be all smirk-y and smug. He didn’t understand…

Sirius swallowed down all the things he wanted to say. A good deal of them would sound more like a petulant teenager than a righteously angered man anyway.

“Fine,” Sirius said.

“I’ll see you after your last class. I believe Severus keeps a schedule posted in his room. The password to my office is peppermint patty.”

Sirius nodded tightly and swept away from the table. He didn’t know it but he was doing a _remarkable_ impression of Severus Snape.

Sirius survived the day by setting reading for each class rather than allowing them practical work. It was a mark of how miserable a bully Snape was that they all seemed relieved to pull out a textbook. The second class in the morning was double potions with Harry. Sirius took great pleasure in just watching him read, looking so much like his father had in the same classroom.

The joy quickly evaporated when Harry caught him looking and cast a look of furious revulsion his way. Sirius contemplated taking points - it would be quite funny, if only to himself. Instead he pretended to look busy organizing phials of assorted crushed beetles.

It was a thoroughly mind-numbing day later that Sirius dismissed his final course. Of course, it had nothing on twelve years in Azkaban. In fact, if he tried really hard to be pleasant (which he rarely did), Sirius could admit the day had been preferable to most spent cooped up in his childhood home.

He sped through the Hogwarts corridors to Dumbledore’s office. First and seventh years alike dodged out of his way. And an hour of small talk and travel later, Sirius settled into a chair in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. It was more than a bit unnerving to be glared at so fiercely by his own face. He figured Snape would be well adjusted to a sour expression and so Sirius sent him his most relaxed, charming smile. He hoped that it angered Snape at least a little.

“I’m afraid I must admit defeat,” Dumbledore said thirty minutes later, lowering his wand. None of the concealment detection charms had registered a single spell, potion, jinx, or hex. “I will escort you both back to Hogwarts for Madame Pomfrey to check you out as well. But I’m afraid my current hypothesis is that you have, incredible as it may seem, physically traded places.”

Snape hissed in displeasure. Sirius admired how handsome his own face was. Usually when Snape got pissy, he looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. With Sirius’s features he looked brooding, melancholy, like a washed up actor. Not at his peak but still far above the average person. 

“Switched bodies?” Sirius repeated that evening when Madame Pomfrey pronounced her prognosis. All thoughts of his own attractiveness had long been driven from his mind as the mediwitch poked and prodded.

“Switched consciousnesses may be more accurate but yes. There’s absolutely no magic at work here, or at least none that the headmaster or I can detect.” Madame Pomfrey’s mouth twisted into a sympathetic smile. 

“This is absurd,” Snape said. “I’m going to speak with Albus.”

“Me too,” Sirius said hastily. Even though Snape now had Sirius’s (slightly!) shorter legs, he had no problem striding down the corridors in such a practiced movement that Sirius struggled to keep up.

Dumbledore took Snape’s report of Pomfrey’s diagnosis stoically. 

“I have plenty of Polyjuice in my stores,” Snape added. “We can simply maintain our natural appearances that way.”

“There is one fatal flaw to that, Severus.” Dumbledore picked up something gold and spindly off his desk and started rotating it in his hands as he spoke. “It’s the most urgent issue with all of this. You are a Death Eater and any plan we concoct must account for Lord Voldemort. We don’t know how the Dark Mark will work - will you feel the pull despite your bare arm or will Sirius be called? And what if the potion wears off in his presence? If we rely on spells instead, he could also easily detect and remove those. No, altering your appearances is too risky.”

“Sending Black in my place is far riskier. He has no Occlumency skills and he's completely ignorant to Death Eater culture. And rather inexperienced in magic at this point, wouldn’t you say?”

“You know, I’m sitting right here,” Sirius said loudly.

“Unfortunately,” Snape drawled but the words in another voice didn’t deliver the same amount of biting insult they might have otherwise. 

“Severus, Sirius is a talented wizard. I have no doubt that we can resolve this situation, should you two find a way to cooperate.” Dumbledore paused and looked back down at the thing in his hands. “Or survive it, at the very least.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He was disquieted by Dumbledore’s lack of solutions. At the thought of having to play Snape in a Death Eater meeting, a shiver crawled down his spine. He wasn’t inherently evil like Snivellus so blending in with the Death Eaters would be a far more formidable task for him. Not to mention they were exactly the people he’d spent his entire life openly defying. The thought of having to kowtow to his cousins was nearly unbearable.

Then again, how many hours had he spent internally whining about not being allowed to do anything? At the very least, he wouldn’t be sitting around polishing silver with Molly Weasley anymore.

“Considering the new circumstances, Severus you may stay in your quarters here at Hogwarts. I only ask that you do not leave for any reason so to avoid a student claiming a Sirius Black sighting. Sirius, I’ll arrange new quarters for you elsewhere.” Dumbledore finally placed the object back on his desk and reached instead for a small glass dish. He offered it to both of the sulking men. “Lemon drop?”


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of the fortnight, Sirius could have written several feet of parchment detailing the endless dreadful aspects of being Severus Snape. If he was forced to select the three worst, however, it would be this:

In third place was getting accustomed to his new body. Every time he picked up a fork at meals he was unnerved by the paleness of his own skin, the lack of dark hair on his forearms, the spindliness of his own fingers. His reflection startled him each morning and he was still adjusting to his new gait. Showering was done quickly and with eyes averted.

The second worst was undoubtedly teaching. It wasn’t the kids themselves so much. It was having to pretend to be such an evil git when speaking to them. He’d avoided concocting the worst insults and mostly deducted minor points where he really couldn’t avoid doing it. It was still unpleasant scaring tiny children every time he encountered one in a corridor.

But worst of all was something so profoundly distressing that he probably would have left it out of the complaint essay if he had chosen to write one.

Sirius was sexually frustrated.

His weekend in Berlin with Nadine had been an exciting and welcome break and he’d been so exhilarated by the freedom that he’d barely stopped to contemplate that he was using Snivellus’s penis to have sex. It wasn’t a fact he could ignore when it came to masturbating.

Having just passed his thirty sixth birthday, his libido wasn’t what it was in his youth. Azkaban had repressed it thoroughly and in the year he’d spent on the run living mostly as Padfoot he’d also not given orgasms a second thought. But now he was comfortable, well-fed, and had plenty of free time. His mind wandered to explicit thoughts quite often, trying to nudge him into reaching down under his pajama pants.

He hadn’t brought himself to do it yet because he always thought _Snivellus’s penis_ and the gnawing horniness quickly dissipated. But it was only a matter of time before he gave in and then what? He would have technically jerked Snape off, wouldn’t he? 

He tried not to think about whether Snape was facing the same dilemma. The man had to be asexual, Lily Evans obsession notwithstanding. Lily had always been the one to insist Snape had no interest in her (or anyone) “like that,” and hadn’t she known Snape best? Sirius chose to believe she had.

All of those horrible things were promptly pushed one spot down on the list when he met Dumbledore and Snape in Snape’s quarters Saturday morning, as Dumbledore had requested in an owl. 

At first Sirius was displeased to note that Snape was not shaving. Sirius had made sure to keep his face clean cut ever since he’d returned to Grimmauld Place. Facial hair reminded him of Azkaban, eating rats, and his own post-imprisonment madness. Sirius wondered if cutting his (Snape’s? Those kinds of things were still confusing) hair in response was too passive aggressive.

Thoughts of revenge were pushed out of his mind when Dumbledore shared the solution he’d reached over two weeks of consideration.

And that was the real worst thing. Dumbledore wanted Sirius to play Snape long term and, more dreadfully, he wanted Snape to teach him how to do it. 

The urge to protest swelled inside him but even as his mind worked furiously he could bring forth no words. What was there to say? He was in a hopeless situation, Sirius could see it now. Voldemort would call him, sooner or later, and if he didn’t believe it was Snape that answered his call, then…

Beneath the wave of trepidation, Sirius was at least a bit thankful that he was not the one once again pushed to the side, told to be helpful but never in a fun way. Snape loathed his own position, if his stormy expression was any indication, and that thought cheered Sirius considerably.

So when Dumbledore excused himself, it was with a smile that Sirius turned to his old nemesis.

“First day of Death Eater school for me, eh, Sniv?”

“I’m sorely tempted to not waste my time,” Snape snarled back, instantly losing the quiet brooding expression he’d worn with Dumbledore and replacing it with unconcealed fury. “The odds you would be able to fool Jugson, let alone the Dark Lord himself, infinitely approach zero.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance,” Sirius said. Even though it was his own face screwed up in a scowl and his own lips poised to spit further insult, Snape’s irritation was still gratifying as ever.

They bickered for a few minutes more before settling into an Occlumency lesson. Snape went on a long winded tirade about the importance of Occlumency during which Sirius daydreamed about the upcoming Hogsmeade visit. He probably should be taking the whole thing more seriously but then solemnity had never been his strong suit.

Without warning (not that Sirius was paying enough attention to have heard the warning if it existed) Snape withdrew his wand - Sirius’s wand - and pointed it at Sirius’s forehead. 

Memories exploded at once. His mum shoving his seven-year-old self into the shower and spraying him with cold water as punishment for speaking to a Muggle at the shops. Regulus presenting Sirius with a handmade card for his birthday and Sirius crumpling it up front of him. A teenage Remus pressed up against the owlery wall, lips parted as Sirius drew closer.

At that, Sirius found himself back in Snape’s chambers. He’d somehow toppled to his knees on the stone floor. He hurried to his feet, pushing the strands of long black hair out of his eyes as he did so.

“You and Lupin?” Snape practically purred. His eyes glittered with some unnameable triumph. “I always suspected.”

“That?” Sirius scoffed. “We were bored and horny and there were all of five girls in our year, if you remember.”

“Yet I never kissed any of my friends,” Snape said.

“You have to _have_ friends to snog them, Snivellus.” Sirius had several more insults lined up. One was a particularly cutting remark about Snape’s greasy hair - always a classic. Before he could get any of them out, Snape once again pointed his wand.

Over the next hour they revisited many of Sirius’s memories, ranging from inconsequential to traumatic. None were happy - as much as being Padfoot had helped him survive in Azkaban, the dementors had still sucked the best of his life away.

Eventually Snape proclaimed Sirius hopeless and shoved a stack of hand-bound journals in his arms.

“Lesson plans,” Snape explained to Sirius’s furrowed brow. “I’ll create them each week.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said as he peered down at the top of the stack. _Semester One, Week Eight. Year Threes_ emblazoned the front.

“I’m doing it for the students, not you.” Snape pursed his lips - yet another look that did not translate particularly well to Sirius’s face. In an odd way, Sirius missed his own smile. “For the rare handful of students that possess talent and dedication, that is.”

Sirius carried the stack back to his quarters, the ones Dumbledore had moved him into. The sitting room was smaller than Snape’s had been and furnished only with a single armchair and a small wooden desk. There was a kitchen which had gone entirely untouched and a rickety circular table shoved into the corner by the fridge. A single chair was pushed under the table. Sirius had sat in it once. The chair had practically crumpled under his weight and he’d spent a frustrating half-hour spelling it back together.

Dumbledore had insisted on them using each other’s wands to maintain appearances and avoid suspicion but Sirius could barely cast the most basic of charms with the wand. His own always felt like a warm and reliable companion. Snape’s was like an unhelpful icicle in his grasp.

Sirius dumped the lesson plans onto the desk next to a pile of novels he’d checked out from the library. He’d never been one for pleasure reading but life as Severus Snape was dull enough to drive him to it. He needed to acquire a deck of cards and a self-playing chess table. He would, eventually, when procrastination lost its appeal.

It was hardly past noon but still Sirius went to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out one of several bottles he’d stocked there. He didn’t bother with a glass but instead took the bottle to the armchair and propped it in his lap.

Sirius alternated the next several hours between swigs of whiskey and brooding stares at the bare wall. Yes, being Snape was boring. He decided he’d come up with a way to fix that...and just as quickly forgot that decision as he nodded off to a Firewhiskey-induced nap.

It was easier to consider the whole affair boring than to admit the mortal peril he was truly in.


	4. Chapter 4

“That was completely uncalled for,” Sirius whined as he climbed to his feet for perhaps the hundredth time since the whole debacle had begun. At times he longed for the moment when he’d first seen himself and believed it all to be an easily fixable joke. Being Snape for possibly the rest of his life was only another kind of life sentence. Currently he served it by being subjected to Snape’s ruthless and inefficient pedagogy each evening. 

“Excellent argument against the Dark Lord. Uncalled for. Let me know how _called for_ he is when he easily rips into your unprotected mind and sees you for the mutt that you are.” 

“I would hope you’d feel the least bit guilty about sending me to my death unprepared but I suppose that would require having a conscience.” 

“I don’t accept the blame for you being wholly incapable of learning,” Snape retorted. “I also didn’t cause this switch. I don’t see where guilt should come into play at all.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sirius muttered but only after a pause. He was floundering trying to keep up with the barbs. His head hurt, his palms were rubbed raw from the many introductions to the floor, and his throat was scratchy from speaking all day while teaching. Since Snape had begun providing lessons he’d made a noble, although not entirely successful, genuine effort to teach.

If the Occlumency lessons were any indication, Sirius didn’t have particularly big shoes to fill.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Snape said and Sirius glanced around the quarters.

“Why? I haven’t gotten any better and I know you don’t have anything to do. We should keep going.” It was one of the last things Sirius wanted to do. Others included returning to Azkaban, eating one of Dumbledore’s lemon drops, and watching Remus obliviously spurn his baby cousin’s advances. But he wasn’t going to let Snape know that. If he wanted to stop then Sirius wanted to keep going - balance in all things, after all.

“If I thought more time would improve your skill I’d stay up all night,” Snape said, though rather insincerely. “However since two weeks of lessons seems to be making no headway it seems futile.” Snape paused and glanced at his kitchen. “I also, unlike you, need to prepare dinner since I no longer have the pleasure of going to the Great Hall for meals.”

“I don’t feel bad for you,” Sirius said. “Two years ago I lived off rats.”

“Rat is a delicacy in many countries,” Snape said. “Your mistake was eating them raw.”

Several arguments came to mind but before he could speak any of them, Sirius realized something quite startling. Snape was making a joke. Absolutely nothing in his expression or tone had changed to indicate it but Sirius could simply...sense it.

Sirius was tired, sore, overwhelmed, and more than a little fearful of the moment the skull on his arm began to burn. So at this tiniest sliver of olive branch, he became reckless. He dropped his body carelessly into one of Snape’s kitchen chairs and gestured at the oven.

“If you know so much about it then prove it.” 

Snape looked at Sirius, at the kitchen, and at the door to the corridors. Then with a slight tightening of his lips he bent down to pull a pot out of a lower cabinet.

Sirius watched him as he shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out utensils, chopping some green herb Sirius couldn’t name. 

Snape’s beard had grown thick with a full month of not shaving and he was keeping Sirius’s hair close cropped. It was never a look Sirius himself had sported so it was a bit easier to consider this an entirely different person rather than his own body waltzing around in front of him. He was getting used to operating Snape’s body too, though a few weeks ago he would have shuddered at the thought. The glimpses of hand and arm no longer startled him and he was starting to get used to the face that stared back at him each time he brushed his teeth.

He’d solved the jerking off issue too. The need had grown urgent enough that he’d been able to suppress the weirdness and just get the job done. Once he’d finished, well, he’d already done it. So subsequent nights he felt a lot less resistance and guilt to the whole thing.

Snape slammed two plates down onto the table and unceremoniously dumped some pasta concoction onto each. Sirius took a plate and a fork and a tentative bite, unsure if he’d been too busy contemplating masturbation to notice if Snape had poisoned the food.

“How did you learn Occlumency? Dumbledore teach you?” Sirius asked after chewing. 

“I taught myself,” Snape answered. “After the first war. There are some books in the library and I studied them.” 

“Why don’t I do that?” Sirius asked, somewhat rhetorically but Snape snorted and answered anyway.

“Be my guest. It would save me considerable pain and suffering.”

“Right because having you digging through my mind is such a joyous time for me.”

Snape took a bite of food and chewed slowly, considering Sirius with an inscrutable face. “You chose to stay here. Concluding that you enjoy it is logical.”

“Shove your logic,” Sirius snapped, feeling unsettled and insulted although Snape had not really said anything unkind. It was shame, was what it was, spreading through him hotly because why _had_ he stayed? 

“You could always, as I suggested an hour ago, leave.”

Sirius stood. “Your food isn’t that great,” he said, rather pathetically, and stomped out of the room, rather childishly.

As he walked he fumed at Snape and at himself, at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, at the boredom and pain, at Dumbledore’s lack of helpfulness, at the constant glares Harry sent his way, and once more at Snape. It had to be his fault, Sirius decided. He’d probably performed some dark magic ritual to steal Sirius’s life...or...because…

Unable to finish the thought, Sirius shoved it all away and went to the library. It was after hours and closed so he found books in Occlumency on his own and carried them out unchecked. 

Back at his quarters, Sirius tipped the books onto his desk before plucking a bottle out of his kitchen and taking several long, greedy swigs. Before the sleepy buzz could set in, Sirius pulled out Snape’s uncooperative wand and pointed it at his head.

The next Occlumency lesson Snape glowered fiercely at Sirius’s butchered haircut and that made it all worth it.


	5. Chapter 5

Sirius lifted one hand to rub his neck as the other tiredly scrawled the potions instructions on the chalkboard. He knew an autoscript spell but with Snape’s wand he was liable to crack the board or set it on fire. He opted for the safer but extremely tedious method. It was the last class before the start of holidays, anyway. He’d have a full two weeks for wrist recovery.

He’d just about finished when all at once the words disappeared. He blinked and looked from the blank board to the hand poised above it and back again. Then he turned to look at his seventh year students.

They were all in various states of distraction. Since Sirius couldn’t bring himself to belittle or threaten children, they’d lost their fear of Professor Snape. Yet they also had six and a half years of resentment festering so with the loss of fear came open defiance. 

After a few weeks of this, Sirius was well used to finding parchment charmed to his back with various alerts. Some were mild - “free hugs!” or “I’m with stupid,” and an arrow pointing to the back of his head. Some were drawings explicit enough to make Sirius wonder if Hogwarts had started offering Sex Education courses.

He’d also become accustomed to each lesson being disturbed by a dungbomb or an errant fanged frisbee. He’d chosen to deal with those interruptions by merely Vanishing the offending object and continuing to monotonously teach.

He mostly appreciated that the students were enacting well-deserved revenge and he didn’t deduct points unless Umbridge was observing. A part of him (the stunted part that had never grown up) was amused by it all, though they were as a whole low effort and relatively uncreative troublemakers. 

But that day when the words disappeared, his hands were cramped and stiff from six hours of writing and nothing about having to rewrite the instructions appealed to him.

“Who did that?” Sirius asked and a classroom-full of heads swiveled to look at him. 

“Not me,” one piped up.

“Not I,” claimed another. Soon they were all shouting over each to deny their innocence, gleeful in the face of their professor’s displeasure and apparent inability to do anything about it.

“Fine,” Sirius snapped, feeling something angry uncoil inside him. “Then _all_ of you will write lines.” In his irritation, Sirius flicked Snape’s wand at the board without thinking of the potential failure. The wand responded, for once, and everything that had been spelled away was back on the board. “Copy the directions from today’s lesson until you are dismissed.”

If only he could have done that in the first place.

“I’m not writing lines,” one of the Weasley twins said and around him heads bobbed in agreement.

“That’s twenty points from Gryffindor,” Sirius snapped back automatically. He had the nearly irrepressible urge to insult the Weasley personally. “And every minute that you don’t write is a week of detention when we return from holidays.” Sirius glanced at his watch. “You’re forty-five seconds in.”

Across the classroom, students shoved hands into bags and pockets, searching for parchment and quills. Many had stopped bothering bringing any to Potions and had to borrow from a neighbor. Silence fell as the students copied and Sirius realized it was the first time the class had been quiet in weeks.

Watching them, he felt an odd twinge of sympathy for his counterpart. Maybe Snape was too harsh with the students but at the very least, Sirius could understand how good it felt to unbottle frustration on them.

Wait. That wasn’t a good thing, was it? Should he be worried? Was anger and resentment towards youth some sort of biological trait that now influenced Sirius’s rational mind?

That evening, after eating dinner in the Great Hall, Sirius undressed for his shower. As he dropped his robes, a piece of parchment fluttered where it was attached to the back. Sirius snatched the note and found upon it a crude drawing of himself - well, of Snape - entangled with the giant squid.

A few weeks ago he might have laughed. Instead he balled up the paper and tossed it into his wastebasket, frowning all the while.

The holidays could not have come at a better time.

A few hours later at the next Occlumency lesson, Snape cast Legilimens as usual. Triumph swept through Sirius when he stayed on his feet and in the moment. Rather than submerging in memories, it was as though he’d developed double vision - one side showed him Snape in his quarters and the other showed a solid stone wall, towering higher than Sirius could see no matter how he craned his neck back.

“Where did you learn that?” Snape asked as he dropped his wand. The image of the wall dissipated.

“Those books you told me about,” Sirius answered smugly. 

“It’s a rudimentary and obvious technique that will be of little use to you if the Dark Lord decides to poke around in your mind.” Snape tilted his head to glance at the door behind him. “Wait here.”

“As if I have a choice,” Sirius muttered to Snape’s back and flopped down onto the sofa as the man disappeared into his bedroom. It was strange but he could feel the slightest tingles of disappointment at the underwhelming response to him actually learning something. It was the dog in him, he supposed - always wanting to be praised and patted on the head. 

Snape re-emerged with a Pensieve and placed it on the coffee table before Sirius. “I believe we can make some adjustments to your mental wall to make it less conspicuous. We can paint it, if you will, in my memories. It won’t hold up to any serious scrutiny but should be passable for casual interactions.”

Sirius opened his mouth to answer and promptly snapped it shut as a hiss of pain escaped. A hand flew instinctively to his left forearm as a flame of pain burned along it.

Snape paled under the beard. “The Mark?”

“Think so,” Sirius ground out and pulled up his sleeve. The formerly faded black skull and snake were now bright red and raw like a freshly burned brand. 

“You have to answer,” Snape said. “The only excuse he ever accepts for tardiness is if I’m teaching and he knows the students are home.”

“How?” Sirius struggled to ask. He could barely force the word out - his breaths had become shallow, his face burned, his stomach twisted, and his hands shook. He’d never been a coward but also, the few times in his life he’d done truly dangerous things - namely escaping Azkaban and trying to kill the rat - he’d been too mad with grief and fury to let fear enter the equation.

Snape seized the front of Sirius’s robes and dragged him closer, close enough that for a moment Sirius felt like he was back in his own body, looking at his own face in a mirror, and the familiarity helped him relax if only infinitesimally.

“If you panic, you are dead,” Snape said roughly. “The Dark Lord already trusts you. All you have to do is not ruin it. Keep your eyes down. Speak only to answer his questions and don’t give any unnecessary information. Whatever he asks of you, do it without hesitation.” Snape let go but Sirius didn’t back away. He was entranced by the advice, trying to memorize every word. The man opposite him was one he had never met before. He spoke with authority, power, confidence, and the smallest ounce of bracing comfort. “You may very well see someone die tonight, Black. You may see torture. Focus on being the wall you showed me earlier. It’s better than nothing.”

There was a disconcerting tinge of pity on Snape’s face as he added, “Now touch the Mark with my wand.”

Sirius did. He registered a loud cracking noise and then all he knew was the pressure and darkness of Apparition.


	6. Chapter 6

The Death Eaters met in a small room, crammed full of dilapidated chairs coated in dust. No one sat; they stood in a circle around a seated and cloaked figure that could only be Voldemort. There were three empty spots and looking at them Sirius felt the fingers of panic come back to grab at him. Were there assigned spots? If he went to the wrong one, what would happen?

He remembered Snape’s words and Sirius focused on calming down as he stepped toward the circle. He pulled his hood up to match the others and then slipped into an opening. If it was wrong, no one corrected him. He bowed his head and let the moments tick by in silence.

Eventually, though Sirius couldn’t say how long it had been, Voldemort lowered his hood. His red eyes gleamed against translucent skin as he looked around at the gathered wizards. Then, without a word, he pushed up on his feet and strode out of the room.

The sound of the door shutting echoed in the silence of the room and mutters broke out. Sirius exhaled shakily. It had all been a test? He was done already?

“Silence!” an unfortunately familiar voice called. Bellatrix stepped forward to address the group - she alone was unhooded. “The Dark Lord must attend to several very important matters. He left me with instructions which I shall pass on to you.”

Sirius wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. Bellatrix was unhinged, always had been, and she was the type to cast first and ask questions later. But really, if Voldemort wasn’t going to prod at him then the odds had to better.

As Bellatrix spoke Sirius tried to remember everything she said but her words were mostly coded hints and lingering silences, heavy with implications that he didn’t understand. Her speech was too ambiguous for him to follow. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that he would (once again, and didn’t it always work out this way?) be useless. He’d have to settle for surviving.

There was no clear end of the instructions or obvious dismissal but all at once the Death Eaters turned to the one door of the room and began to shuffle their way out. Sirius did his best to move slowly and blend in although his tightly coiled nerves insisted taking off running would be a great idea.

Sirius followed the crowd through hallways, rooms even dustier than the one they’d met in, and then he was outside. The cold air slapped his cheeks and stung his hands. There was no snow underfoot despite being mid-December. Sirius pretended he was being helpful and filed the observation away.

Once they’d traveled perhaps a hundred yards, one person Disapparated. The slimeball Malfoy lowered his hood and turned to chat to a person on his left. He looked unhappy but there was also the strong possibility his face was stuck that way. 

Sirius knew he’d been fortunate that the call had merely been some kind of information session. He decided not to press his luck by sticking around and copying the others, he Disapparated. His feet nearly gave way beneath him as he landed in the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. 

While there, a little dizzy and shaken up by the entire thing, he stopped first to break into the Three Broomsticks and steal some very needed supplies. Then he took the passage in the Honeydukes storeroom.

He made his way back to the dungeons without running into Filch. Snape opened the door at the first knock. “What’s that?” he asked instantly, staring at the bottles clutched in Sirius’s arm.

“Stuff. Grabbed it when I went through Hogsmeade.” 

“You could have Apparated back, you know. Albus adjusted the wards so that I - you, now - can come and go.” 

“Now you tell me,” Sirius grumbled and crossed the room to deposit his stolen goods onto Snape’s kitchen counters.

“Is that Firewhiskey?” Snape asked, drawing closer to peer down at the pile suspiciously.

“Right on,” Sirius said. “And rum truffles and mini wine bottles.” He grabbed one of the mini bottles and unscrewed the top. It took only a few gulps to drain the bottle.

“Do you mean you came here to get drunk?”

“Why not?” Sirius challenged. “I know you don’t have anything to do tomorrow. Great day to have a hangover.”

“I don’t drink,” Snape sneered.

“Of course you don’t, Snivellus. Never had a spot of fun at all, have you?” Sirius popped a truffle into his mouth and chewed. Rum oozed from between chocolate pieces, coating his tongue and burning his throat.

Snape watched him in a way that made Sirius feel very uncomfortable with the scrutiny - like he had a booger hanging out of his nose. He lifted another wine bottle and tried to be subtle as he swiped away the potential booger.

“I have something better,” Snape said after an extended silence and disappeared into his bedroom, an echo of his behavior before the Dark Mark burned.

This time he reappeared not with a Pensieve but with two small bottles of a dark, thick substance. “Don’t think that’s better. We can’t get drunk off that.”

“It’s Polyjuice Potion,” Snape said. The very edges of Sirius’s focus had begun to blur pleasantly but as soon as he processed which potion Snape held in his hand, his attention sharpened.

“Dumbledore said we can’t take it,” Sirius said slowly.

“You won’t be called again tonight.” Snape extended one bottle to Sirius and he took it. He rolled the glass in his hand and watched as Snape plucked out a few of his beard hairs and deposited them into the mud-like concoction. With a soft hiss, the potion began to bubble, and the dark fluid lightened to a pale blue. 

Snape held the completed Polyjuice Potion and gestured at Sirius. “Your turn.”

Sirius yanked out some of the hair from his head, still shorn in uneven sections from the haphazard haircut, and with that addition the Polyjuice in his hand became a deep garnet with flecks of something glittery.

“Almost looks like a Gryffindor,” Sirius said as he passed the bottle over. Snape ignored him - his eyes were fastened nearly reverently on the potion. Sirius understood the look.

Almost in sync, both men drank their potions. 

Sirius felt, painlessly, his fingers shrink and thicken, his shoulders broaden, and his face tingle as his features rearranged themselves. When all the change subsided, Sirius turned and pushed into Snape’s bathroom. He peered into the mirror that had first shown him Snape’s face and saw his own instead.

His hands came up and pressed against his cheeks. They’d retained the beard Snape had grown out but now that it was back on his own face and his own body he minded much less. It wasn’t what he preferred but what did that matter? 

Being back in his body felt like stepping into a hot shower after a rainy afternoon flying, like the first sip of Butterbeer while nestled into a booth at the Three Broomsticks, like James sweeping his hair out of his face and Remus pulling a face and the three of them laughing, completely unaware of what was to come.

It was how Sirius always imagined he’d feel after he tore Pettigrew apart with his bare hands. Total relief and peace. Like coming home after a long holiday. Or like death - a well-deserved rest after a lifetime of struggle.

Sirius could have stared at himself for hours but instead he went back to the sitting room. Snape sat on the sofa, staring at his own splayed fingers.

“We need to figure out how to switch back,” Sirius said. Snape stayed still and silent. “Fuck Voldemort and fuck everything else. I just need to be back in my body. Don’t you?”

“I preferred being you,” Snape said and abruptly stood. His eyes swung from his fingers to Sirius’s face. “Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Sirius did not have enough time to be confused. The words passed through the room and Snape followed them, grasped Sirius by the chin, and pressed their lips together. The kiss was fierce enough to stop Sirius from pulling away, trying to figure it out, or really from thinking at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, giving kudos, and commenting! I really appreciate it every time.


	7. Chapter 7

The thing Sirius kept thinking as he glowered at Snape was, _he_ kissed _me_. Snape had manhandled him, rather thoroughly, and then he’d shoved Sirius away with the expression of someone who’d been force-fed a handful of Hippogriff dung. He’d probably done something to the Polyjuice, come to think of it, because rightfully Sirius should have been the disgusted one. Instead he felt indignant and insulted that Snape had ended it so quickly.

It _had_ been months, he thought as he tried to soothe his wounded ego and dissatisfied libido. Months since Nadine and months before that when he’d still been hiding on the run, technically, but he’d risked it with a Muggle woman, and before that had to have been before Azkaban which was a prospect too depressing to thoroughly consider. But that was why he’d gone along with it, surely, just good ol’ blue balls.

“The memory?” Dumbledore prompted and Sirius snapped his attention to the headmaster. He sat behind his desk, leaning forward with a hand draped toward the Pensieve that sat between them. He still wore his nightclothes - Snape had insisted on waking him, said that Dumbledore always wanted debriefings immediately. Since they still had their true appearances, Snape had disillusioned Sirius before beginning the trek through the castle.

Sirius’s report was about one sentence long: Bellatrix talked gibberish and then we left. Uninformative and therefore unhelpful. So Dumbledore had asked him to put the memory in the Pensieve and let the two of them puzzle it out.

Which was fine by Sirius. He felt like a wrung out mop.

He touched his wand to his forehead, drew out the memory, and dropped it into the Pensieve. Snape and Dumbledore reached out simultaneously to place their fingertips on the shimmery surface. Their bodies slumped back in their chairs as their eyes fluttered shut and Sirius leaned back, expecting them to be gone quite a while. Maybe he could fit in a nap.

He was wriggling against his chair trying to get comfortable when both sets of eyes snapped open, perhaps thirty seconds since they’d closed.

“That was the _wrong memory_ ,” Snape spat, furiously glaring at an innocent speck of dust on the desk.

“It explains why you took Polyjuice despite my directions against it,” Dumbledore said lightly. 

“That’s not why,” Sirius protested. He had a pretty good idea of what memory he’d accidentally shown the headmaster as there was one particular memory ( _Snape kissed me!_ ) he was having a hard time getting out of his mind. “I can’t do a damn thing with Snape’s wand. Let me use mine.”

Snape passed the wand over without breaking eye contact with the dust. He held it by the tips of his fingers as though it was soiled tissue.

Sirius once again placed a memory into the Pensieve and this time it seemed to have been the right one. Snape’s and Dumbledore’s bodies sat slack in their chairs as the minutes passed by. Sirius was just starting to nod off into the crook of his arm when they came back.

“-and if that’s the case, why is he leaving it to Bellatrix?” Snape was asking even before his body straightened up.

“Certainly what Rookwood said in October seems relevant now,” Dumbledore said and Snape nodded.

“You should let Kingsley know. He’s the closest to it.”

They continued this way for a while and even with the few Order meetings Sirius had attended over the summer he was almost entirely lost. Eventually, Dumbledore pulled out a sheet of parchment and plucked a quill from an inkwell. It looked as though they were settling in for a long pre-dawn session of work.

“Can I go, then?” Sirius asked over a stifled yawn. Snape had been leaning forward and pointing at a spot on the parchment but at Sirius’s question his head snapped around.

“You were inordinately lucky to have your first call be such an uneventful one, especially considering all that the Dark Lord is working to accomplish right now. Don’t you want to be informed?”

“I’m not getting informed about shit. You two are going on and I don’t understand a word of it.”

Sirius felt like a disobedient toddler at the look Dumbledore and Snape exchanged - a silent look of, _Are you dealing with him or am I?_ It made Sirius want to leave the room that much more.

“I’ll catch you up tonight,” Snape said without looking at him. Though leaving was exactly what he’d wanted, actually being dismissed made him want to stay. But instead of fussing, he decided to let tiredness win and slumped out of the office stifling a yawn.

He slept but fitfully. He dreamt of Bellatrix grabbing at him, shrieking he was an imposter, and the rest of the Death Eaters tearing the flesh from his bones with their bare hands. Then he dreamt of Voldemort and Dumbledore sipping tea in Dumbledore’s office, laughing over the idea of Snape kissing Sirius and Sirius _enjoying_ it. Snape stood between them, laughing too as he twirled both his wand and Sirius’s. And when Sirius moved to take his wand back, all three of them pointed theirs at him and said as one, “Avada Kedavra.” 

At which point Sirius woke up. He could feel as he climbed out of bed that the Polyjuice had worn off and his body once again resembled Snape’s. It was somehow worse the second time. He brewed a pot of tea and, once it was done, poured in a generous helping of brandy. 


	8. Chapter 8

The night after the Death Eater meeting, Snape acted nothing but businesslike and Sirius was not going to be the one to bring it up. Not when he barely knew what to think, let alone how to talk about it. He’d hated Snape for so long it was practically part of his identity. He’d tried to kill Snape - sorry again, Remus - and Snape had done everything in his power to get Sirius Kissed. The Dementor kind, a much less thrilling prospect.

Ugh. Was he really calling kissing Snape thrilling? Even only in his own mind, that went too far.

But the point was that things had changed. He’d spent several months in Snape’s life and somehow along the way the hatred had softened. He couldn’t even truthfully say he disliked the man anymore. He was prickly and irritating to a depth no one else could reach but that was as far as it went.

And damn could Severus Snape kiss. It made Sirius feel preteen-like, swooning over first base. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had sexual fantasies. It was impossible not to when he knew exactly what it was like to hold Snape’s hard dick in his hand. Then again, it was always in Snape’s hand, from a first person perspective, and he only knew because of their whole fucked up body switching situation, which involved no consent from either of them. So when he really thought about it Sirius felt like a perverted voyeur.

The first week of holidays passed like that. Sirius spent the days angsting over his possible sexual feelings for Snape and spent the nights in a small room with the same man, concentrating on anything _but_ that possibility.

They’d taken right to Snape’s plan of implanting memories in Sirius’s mind. Now when Sirius saw the wall in his mind the stones seemed to glimmer and when he focused he could see each one played a memory - a very young Snape cowering under a table, Snape and Lily walking next to a river in Muggle clothes, a teenage Snape performing the Cruciatus Curse on a flailing form.

Snape explained that the wall looked different to him, more like a thundering whirlpool that he could reach into and pluck out memories one by one. That’s how it would look to Voldemort on the day he probed Sirius’s mind, if it ever came.

After a week of this, Sirius walked into Snape’s quarters and found him seated on the sofa. He sat stiffly, a hand on each knee, and the rest of his face didn’t move when his eyes flickered to Sirius. A full bottle of elf wine stood on the coffee table next to a bottle opener and a single glass goblet.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked. “Thought Snivelly didn’t drink.”

“I don’t,” Snape said. “You do.” 

Something warm uncoiled in Sirius as he looked from Snape to the bottle and back again. He really did try to fight it but it was instinctual when it came to Snape - he smirked.

“You got me wine? You _do_ like me,” Sirius said, and also wondered where it had come from given that Snape couldn’t leave his room. 

“Have some,” Snape said roughly and lifted a hand to nudge the bottle in Sirius’s direction. 

“It’s not poisoned, is it? You did say you like being me. Maybe you want to off your body and live inside my skin forever.” As he spoke, Sirius picked up the bottle opener and began working on the cork. 

“If that’s the kind of thing you say sober, maybe the wine was a bad idea,” Snape said. Sirius grinned and poured himself a glass so full it was in danger of spilling. Then he settled himself next to Snape and took a long drink.

“No Occlumency tonight?” he asked as he lowered the glass.

“You’re passable now,” Snape said. “It’s more important that you learn about the Death Eaters.”

Sirius set the already half-drained cup back down. “I’m not going to remember shit if I’m drunk.”

Snape pursed his lips and then moved over to his desk. After a bit of rummaging around, he returned to Sirius with a thick brown journal. “I wrote it all down. Name, description, role, and rank of each Death Eater. What the Dark Lord is planning right now. Study it in your free time. Learn it as quickly as you can. There’s no guarantee you won’t be called again before holidays end.”

Sirius flipped a few pages, scanning Snape’s spidery handwriting. He stopped on Bellatrix’s page - Snape had written _dangerous_ and underlined it three times.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sirius said, tapping the emphasized word. “She’s nutty.”

“Nutty, powerful, and zealously devout. Don’t underestimate her. You knew her as a child.”

“I knew her in Azkaban too,” Sirius muttered. He closed the book. “Most people cried or screamed but she was always laughing this horrible, screechy, loony laugh. The guards moved her around so none of them had to listen to her for too long.”

“The Dementors?” Snape asked and his jaw twitched as though he’d clenched it.

“No, they just float around making everyone miserable. There’s wizard guards that actually deal with the prisoners. They get switched out every couple of months or the Dementors would drive them crazy too.” Sirius finished his glass and poured another. He’d never talked about Azkaban before - no one had asked. He figured Remus felt too much guilt to bring it up and Harry had other, more important things on his mind. And that was pretty much the extent of who he talked to. 

“You know,” Snape said, staring at the coffee table, “I thought you were the Secret Keeper. I thought you’d killed Lily. That night when I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sirius interrupted. “I showed your underwear to the school and sicced a werewolf on you. Plus the million other shitty things we did to each other. Water under the bridge, as far as I’m concerned.” Sirius finished his second glass and burped. “Only thing that really ticks me off is how you treated Harry.”

Snape twitched as though he’d thought to stand but decided against it. “I protected him.”

“While treating him like shit. You know what those Muggles did to him? Kept him in a cupboard, starved him, beat him. Then he shows up here and you pretty much keep it going.”

Snape’s lip curled and he said, “He’s had no shortage of fans ever since he set food in this castle. Just because I don’t fall at his feet-”

“You do, trying to break his ankles.”

“He’s incompetent and lazy,” Snape barked, all traces of contrition erased. 

“He’s a kid,” Sirius answered.

“You,” was all Snape said but he was clearly struggling with his rage too much to form words beyond that.

This time Sirius couldn’t say who exactly made the first move but all at once they were kissing. Snape tore at Sirius’s robes and Sirius shrugged them off. Only as the robes fell to the couch and then slithered onto the floor did Sirius remember he was, technically, kissing himself. He tried to pull back at that.

“Snape,” he tried and was silenced by a vicious kiss that smashed his lips into his teeth.

“Shut up,” Snape breathed. “I don’t want to hear myself.”

“It’s not so bad,” Sirius mumbled into Snape’s mouth but then acquiesced and the only sounds were their lips against each other, then on skin, on necks and chests and shoulders. At some point Snape turned off the lights with a wave of his wand and then they blindly groped at each other. Everything was familiar and foreign all at once. The wine and his pulsing erection helped Sirius not think about it too deeply.

After they finished - Snape first, gasping into Sirius’s shoulder, and then Sirius, licking into Snape’s mouth - Snape restored the light. Sirius tugged his robes back on and took several swigs of wine straight from the bottle.

“Shall I go, then?” Sirius asked.

“Don’t forget the journal,” Snape said and then, quietly, “You don’t have to.”

So he didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized while writing a later chapter that Bellatrix should’ve still been in Azkaban when I wrote that first Death Eater meeting. I’m going to go with she hired a really good lawyer and got out early? 😅 My bad! 
> 
> If you’re looking for a well-researched and carefully crafted timeline then this will probably continue to disappoint hahaha


	9. Chapter 9

The first lesson after holidays was a quiet one. The seventh years had spread the word of “Professor Snape’s” little fit, it seemed, because the third years showed up with stocked bags and nervous, darting eyes.

Although for entirely different reasons, Sirius understood their anxiety. He felt on edge, paranoid. He was sure a student would look at him and _just know_ he’d spent the last several days having sex with...himself.

Of course it wasn’t really himself, it was Snape, an infuriating git and the only one who could ever understand his situation. The git part was more complicated than the rest. Snape could go from a kind word to a piercing insult fast enough to give Sirius whiplash. Just the night before Snape had been all wrapped around Sirius (in the dark, always), positively snuggling him, and Sirius had been so relaxed he’d mumbled some sort of dumb joke that he couldn’t half remember - something about being the better spy since he’d gotten a Death Eater in his bed. Snape had turned spitting mad, started calling Sirius his old favorites like a good for nothing flea-bitten mutt. Then somehow they’d ended up fucking again and falling asleep in Snape’s bed. 

It gave Sirius a headache. Or that could have been the copious amounts of Firewhiskey he’d drank the night before.

So the first lesson passed with the students working quietly while Sirius stayed absorbed in his first interpersonal drama in nearly twenty years. When it ended, the third years hurried out and the fifth years trickled in, slowly filling the classroom. 

A few minutes late, Harry slouched into the dungeon. He looked as rough as if he’d been trampled by a herd of thestrals. When he sat down next to his friends, Sirius noticed they didn’t look much better.

“Potter. Making an entrance as usual? We’ll discuss your punishment for tardiness after class,” Sirius said, as nastily as possible in what he suspected was a fairly accurate Snape impression. Of course his minor pride in such an accomplishment shriveled up to something hard and painful when Harry responded with a sullenly mutinous glare and nothing else.

At the end of class Harry stumped up to Snape’s desk, arms folded over his chest. “You wanted to see me?” Harry asked and added, as disrespectfully as possible, “Sir.”

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked. Harry frowned and glanced around the room as if expecting someone to pop out and yell, _surprise_.

“Considering what happened, no, not really,” he said bluntly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Can you go ahead and take points or whatever?”

“Right,” Sirius said. He wanted to pry but he didn’t think he could pull it off as Snape. “Five points from Gryffindor.

“Great,” Harry said dully. “See you later then.” With that flippant remark, Harry slipped out of the classroom. When the door opened, Sirius caught a second’s glimpse of Harry’s friends waiting for him in the corridor.

Sirius festered in guilt the rest of the day. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t even written to Harry in the past several months. Being self-absorbed was nothing new but usually he was at least a good godfather, or tried to be.

That evening Sirius skipped dinner to send off a note to Harry. He also decided he’d ask Dumbledore what Harry had meant by _what happened._ Sirius was painfully out of the loop for someone meant to be playing a double agent.

When Sirius traveled to Snape’s quarters, he opened the door with a devilishly entertained smirk.

“Should I be worried?” Sirius asked as he stepped into the room. 

“No, you should be thrilled,” Snape answered. “Albus paid me a visit today. He had somewhere to be tonight so he asked me to pass on a message.” Snape paused, the glee completely overtaking his face in the silence. Sirius was more unnerved by a happy Snape than a brooding or angry one.

“Well?” Sirius prompted impatiently.

“You have the enviable task of teaching the Boy Who Lived Occlumency.” Snape drew a glass of champagne out of seemingly thin air - and perhaps he had, as he’d always had good luck with Sirius’s wand. Snape pressed the glass into Sirius’s palm. “Cheers.”

Sirius took a drink out of habit. “Why are you so happy about this?”

“Excellent question,” Snape practically purred. “Why am I so happy? Simply put, I have the strong suspicion that someone else is finally going to see Potter as he truly is.”

“I love Harry,” Sirius reminded him.

“Yes, and he loves Sirius Black. But that’s not who you are. You are Severus Snape, the cruel professor, the overgrown bat, the greasy git. Potter’s going to chew you up and spit you out.”

“Have you had anything to drink? A Befuddlement Draught perhaps?”

Snape only laughed in answer. The sound was startlingly comforting - it was the first time he’d heard his own laugh in months. So when Snape kissed him Sirius kissed back, despite the bizarre conversation they’d just shared.

They didn’t kiss long and instead settled into what would be their new routine - a brief scrimmage of Occlumency to ensure Sirius’s wall still held, a recitation of all the information in the journal, and then they just talked. About the things Snape would or wouldn’t say to which person, about what the Death Eaters did in their off hours, about all the possible things Sirius could be asked to do next time - all things Snape had already done.

“What’s it like?” Sirius asked quietly. It was nearing midnight; he felt sleepy from the late hour and the champagne. Snape had dimmed the lights so that they sat in near darkness - only silhouettes and hushed voices to each other. “Killing someone.”

Snape tensed and Sirius reached out a hand mostly blindly. The hand found Snape’s forearm and rested there.

“Depends on who you’re killing and why,” Snape said, eventually, when he’d been quiet so long Sirius was sure he wouldn’t answer. “Typically I don’t think about it. That helps.”

“I can’t wait to kill Pettigrew,” Sirius said. One of his common fantasies danced before him - his hands wrapped around Pettigrew's worthless throat, his watery eyes bugging, his pathetic chokes and gasps as his life finally ended like it should have fourteen years earlier. He still saw his own fingers, thick and callused. But if he had to use Snape’s hands, he would. 

“You know he was at the meeting you went to,” Snape said and Sirius felt his fingers tighten where they still lay on Snape’s arm.

“What?” 

“In the circle. I know he was hooded but he’s the shortest one,” Snape said. His voice was low and soothing as though talking to a feral creature. In a way, he was.

“Next time I’m going to kill him,” Sirius said fiercely. He withdrew his hand as he leapt to his feet and began pacing in the semi-blackness. “Right there in the meeting, I don’t care. What’s my life for his?”

“What’s _my_ life for his?” Snape asked and Sirius stood still.

“That’s not fair.” Sirius crossed the room to sit back down. “We’re not really getting our bodies back anyway, are we?” 

“I’m trying,” Snape said. “That’s what I’ve been doing all this time in here. Researching spells, potions. There should be a way to make Polyjuice permanent but I haven’t figured it out yet. Another option would be an undetectable Transfiguration charm but no one’s discovered how to hide all magical traces yet. We could make it extremely difficult to tell but the Dark Lord is exceptionally paranoid and absolutely powerful. The spell would have to be perfect to fool him.”

“So you’re saying I can’t rush your body into a suicide mission?” Sirius asked, pouting slightly.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.” 

Sirius sighed heavily. “Fine. But now I’m severely disappointed I won’t be killing Pettigrew anytime soon. I think you need to make it up to me.”

And though it was no vengeance against the rat that killed his best friend and stole twelve years of his life, that thing Snape did with his tongue was at least a pleasant distraction.


	10. Chapter 10

Books and sheets of parchment strewn the table around which Sirius and Harry sat, heads pointing toward each other as they peered at the same page in a book. 

“But why would that help?” Harry asked, pointing at an illustration of a witch burning at a stake.

“Apparently if you use a Flame-Freezing Charm-”

“Oh, I remember reading about that!” Harry interrupted excitedly. “It just tickles, right?”

“It can be quite a pleasant sensation, so I’ve heard. Maybe enough to distract your mind and thus clear it.” 

“Think I prefer flying,” Harry said with an open grin. Sirius felt an equal wave of guilt and joy at how happily his godson was looking at his formerly hated professor.

The first lesson, Sirius had truly tried to be Snape. He’d insulted Harry and he’d been snappy and he’d seen right away that Harry would never learn anything if he spent each hour boiling in fury. So the second time, Sirius had dialed it back. He’d been short but not insulting. Even that seemed to take Harry aback.

Now it was the sixth week, two days before Valentine’s Day, and lessons with Harry were Sirius’s favorite evening. They’d talked about what had happened over winter holidays, that thing Sirius hadn’t been told about - the attack on Arthur Weasley and Harry witnessing it all, which only made Occlumency all the more important. 

So they’d been practicing meditation and learning different mind-clearing techniques and all in all Sirius was rather proud of himself. Harry was just about able to conjure up his own wall, although it was short and crumbly and not overall a great defense.

“Sorry to interrupt,” came a soft voice from the doorway. Sirius looked up from the book to find Dumbledore standing there, hands folded behind his back. “Harry, I’m afraid I must end your lesson early today.”

“Alright,” Harry said easily, though he wore a familiar expression of sharp curiosity as his eyes darted between the two men. “See you in class, Professor.”

Harry gathered his things and scurried out of the classroom. Dumbledore stood in silence until he’d been gone a minute and then cast a few spells to ensure he wasn’t standing in the corridor to listen.

“You and Harry seem to be getting along splendidly.”

Sirius shrugged and then busied himself with tidying the documents sprawled before him.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Dumbledore asked. Sirius stopped himself from shrugging again.

“I’m teaching him Occlumency, as instructed,” Sirius answered flatly.

“You are also creating positive memories of Professor Snape in Harry’s mind, a mind which Voldemort has full access to. As soon as he realizes the connection, he can easily exploit it. You put Severus’s cover at risk.” Dumbledore spoke calmly but something in his voice was cold and disapproving. Sirius chafed under it as the old urge to rebel kicked in.

“It’s my cover now,” Sirius said. “If anyone’s at risk it’s me.”

“A very selfish viewpoint,” Dumbledore said and pursed his lips. They held each other’s gaze for quite some time - Sirius refused to be the first to look away.

Eventually, Dumbledore left. Apparently he’d come just to check in on the lesson. Sirius finished cleaning and then went straight to Snape. He recounted the entire event and was disappointed but not altogether surprised when Snape rallied against him as well. 

After several minutes of shouting that almost came to hexes, Sirius stomped out of Snape’s quarters and back to his own. Hiding away at Grimmauld Place had been difficult in its own right but being Snape was on an entirely different playing field. He had to follow Dumbledore’s orders, satisfy Snape’s desire for a surly reputation, fearfully await Voldemort calling him...and now he couldn’t even be civil to his godson on top of it all?

Sirius was still fuming when he felt the Dark Mark begin to burn.

He grabbed his arm in a moment of panic before remembering everything he and Harry had just discussed. He spent thirty seconds clearing his mind and emotions as best he could. Not willing to risk tardiness beyond that, Sirius pulled out his wand and rolled up his sleeve.

When Sirius straightened up and looked around after Apparating, a spasm of terror went through him. He felt familiar fingers of icy despair tear their way through his stomach and to his heart where they squeezed to form a frozen fist.

Sirius yanked up his hood to hide the fear written plainly on his face and hurried to join the small crowd that had formed at Voldemort’s feet. They were all kneeling and so Sirius kneeled too even as he struggled to maintain even breathing.

The group gathered on a cliffside by the sea. The only sounds to be heard were that of waves crashing against stone and one very faint seagull cry. To the right, off by a fair distance but still towering above, stood Azkaban.

_I can’t go back_ , Sirius numbly chanted in his mind and his hands began to shake as he kneeled there.

“The Ministry has been our greatest ally,” Voldemort said without preamble. His soft, high voice carried easily over the sounds of the ocean. “They have chosen blindness and tonight we use that, once again, to our advantage.” Voldemort extended one slim finger towards the stone prison. “The Dementors have chosen our side. They are leaving Azkaban as we speak. By the time we breach the wall, the only resistance will be wizard guards. I assure you they offer no challenge to us.”

Voldemort paced among his kneeling followers. He stopped at Sirius. “Severus. I’m glad your master allowed you to join us this evening.” There were a few chuckles, uncomfortable and hesitant, and then silence once more. Sirius realized he needed to speak.

“You are my only master,” he said, remembering what Snape said about Voldemort’s ego and narcissism. That seemed to please Voldemort enough because he glided off to another Death Eater next.

Eventually, he’d spoken to each - Sirius nearly bit through his lip when he heard Pettigrew’s wavery voice simpering over Voldemort’s power. He gestured for the Death Eaters to stand and they did. As a pack, they turned and began to walk toward Azkaban.

As they walked, Sirius kept his eyes fixed up on a particularly horrifying sight. The Dementors had left their posts and instead swooped ominously above the prison. 

When they reached the wall, Voldemort blasted a hole easily. Wizard guards came running and at that the fighting began. Sirius had to turn off the part of him that wanted to hex the Death Eaters and Dementors. Instead he aimed moderate spells at the guards and admittedly this did not pain him. They had spat at him, kicked him, starved him, demeaned him. Not these guards, specifically - the ones that had were long gone. But they were all the same, weren’t they?

The guards deserved it all, he told himself, even when a Dementor dropped out of the sky to suck the soul of one.

An hour later they reassembled by the sea, a dozen Death Eaters stronger. Excitement and triumph flowed through the group almost tangibly. Sirius tried not to be sick.


	11. Chapter 11

Sirius expected Snape to turn him away being that it was two in the morning and they’d had an argument only hours earlier. Instead he opened the door, still in his nightclothes but with bright and alert eyes as though he hadn’t just been roused from sleep. 

“You travelled in the corridor like that?” he hissed, yanking Sirius inside.

“Like what?” Sirius asked, glancing down. “In robes?”

Snape grabbed Sirius by the shoulders and steered him into the bathroom where Sirius recoiled at his own reflection. He’d come mostly to terms with his new face but now it was spattered in blood and some thick green substance Sirius couldn’t identify. The fluids had congealed in his hair (still recovering from the impulsive cut) and seeped into the collar of his white shirt. His eyes were wide and wild as they peered out beneath the muck.

Looking in the mirror, Sirius couldn’t reconcile the man before him with himself. He hadn’t been the one to allow wizards to be cut down to free Death Eaters, had he? 

Pettigrew had been there and he’d been unharmed. He’d scurried off to probably some cozy house with comfortable furniture, warm food, hot water. Meanwhile a dozen men who had never betrayed James Potter lay dead on the cold floors of Azkaban.

“Are you hurt?” Snape asked after a lengthy silence and Sirius shook his head. “Take a shower.”

Sirius did, robotically, and when he stepped out there was a fresh pair of robes folded on the sink. He found Snape and a pot of tea at the kitchen table. He took a cup, wishing it was something stronger, and sat on the sofa. Snape left the wooden chair and sat next to him.

“I would offer you something else,” Snape said, as though he’d read Sirius’s mind, “but you have to teach in four hours.”

“I think Professor Snape’s going to take a sick day,” Sirius muttered.

“And when whatever you did is published in the newspaper, how is it going to look if you’re absent? Or present but looking like you do now? You’ve got to hide it all before you go to breakfast.”

“Hide it all?” Sirius repeated and his voice cracked. “How am I supposed to hide that I-”

“Don’t say it,” Snape interrupted. “Don’t think about it. Bury it. Drink a Pepper-Up and read a book or plan a lesson.” When Sirius said nothing, Snape added, “It’s easier that no one expects you to be happy. Just show up and grouch around.”

“Don’t act like that’s why you’re so miserable toward everyone,” Sirius said. “You were a git in school too.”

“I was burying other things then,” Snape said quietly. Sirius didn’t know what to say to that so they sat in silence for a few minutes more.

“Can’t we take Polyjuice?” Sirius asked. “Since I’ve been called.” He sat up straighter. “We could take it and you could go teach for the day.”

“Albus-” Snape began and Sirius cut him off by kissing him, hard.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he said when he pulled away. “You could do this to my face instead of yours. And then get out of this room for once.”

Snape stared at him for a long time with an entirely unreadable expression - an expression that Sirius needed to learn as well. Then he got up, returning minutes later with two bottles.

“We’re only taking enough to last until lunch,” Snape said. “You can nap here and I’ll come switch with you then.”

Sirius had never tried hard drugs - maybe he would have in another lifetime, where he hadn’t graduated into a war and then gone straight to prison. But when he once again drank the Polyjuice, he had the idea that the feeling of transforming back into his own body was like something of a high. 

He kissed Snape, feeling dizzy, relishing the unfamiliar feel of his lips and knowing that it was because they were Snape’s, not his own. Though he hadn’t minded fooling around with his own body before, he wasn’t sure how he could ever do it again when Snape’s was so much better.

They moved to the bed and fucked there. For the first time Snape didn’t insist on blackness. When they finished Sirius moved to roll to his side but Snape stopped him, put his arms around Sirius and drew him to his chest. Sirius heard and felt Snape’s heartbeat against his cheek, rested a hand on the very light dusting of hair on Snape’s chest, and fell asleep.

He slept deeply enough that he didn’t wake when Snape slipped out from under him and he, fortunately, didn’t dream. 

Snape shook him awake a few hours later and they ate sandwiches on the sofa while the Polyjuice wore off. 

“How was it?” Sirius asked around a mouthful of bread.

“The students were focused entirely on the breakout, of course. I confiscated a dozen Daily Prophets and took twice as many points.” Snape smiled. “I made Padma Patil cry.”

“Well that’s not particularly a challenge, is it?” Sirius shook his head. “You’ve missed teaching, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Snape said firmly. “It was fun for a morning. I told you, I prefer being here. Nobody bothers me, my life is not at risk, and I have all the time I want to read.”

“All those times you gave me shit for sitting at Grimmauld Place you were really just jealous,” Sirius said and Snape smirked. The potion had fully worn off; he once again looked like Sirius and Sirius felt a deep, ugly slash of envy.

“Don’t you have a class to teach, Professor Snape?”


	12. Chapter 12

“Allow me to summarize,” Dumbledore said. Sirius had to fight the urge to slouch down into his chair. “You were called by Voldemort and did not immediately report to me upon your return although you were instructed to do so, correct?” He didn’t wait for Sirius’s confirmation. “You instead went to Severus where you both took  
Polyjuice, also against instructions, and Severus then risked a massive incident with the students by teaching while under the temporary influence of Polyjuice. Not to mention your failure to maintain your identity as Professor Snape in front of Harry. Is everything I’ve said so far accurate?”

“I told him not to tell you,” Sirius said, though he had a feeling he wasn’t helping his case.

“Severus didn’t share that detail with me but it doesn’t surprise me in the least. I have always known you to be reckless and thoughtless as a boy but I thought, surely you understood the stakes at this point. Your life, Severus’s life, Harry’s life, and the lives of countless other wizards at risk in this war - none of them mean anything to you?”

“I’m not a student,” Sirius protested. “You don’t need to talk to me that way.” He flinched back, out of surprise more than anything, when Dumbledore slammed both hands on his desk.

“And I’m not lecturing you as a headmaster. I am beseeching you, Sirius, to _get your shit together_ before someone we both care about dies.” Dumbledore pulled his hands back and added, “I thought, considering you and Severus-”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Sirius interrupted. “I’ve fucked up, I get it. I’ll do better. I’ll be mean to Harry, if that’s what you want.” Though saying so caused his stomach to knot up. He could too easily picture Harry’s expression when their tentatively built friendship crumbled down. His Occlumency would doubtless regress, as well.

“It’s far too late for that,” Dumbledore said. “Minerva will be taking over as Harry’s tutor. She’s far less skilled than Severus but then, so are you.” Sirius bristled at the (entirely true) insult but said nothing. He’d never seen Dumbledore so riled up and didn’t think anything he had to say would calm him down. “And you, as Professor Snape, are fired, effective immediately.”

“Fired?” Sirius repeated. “You - what? How can you fire Snape?”

“It is not my first choice but your actions and the state of the Ministry force my hand. Removing you will ensure no suspicion around Severus is created and being able to select your replacement will satisfy Umbridge for at least a little while.” Dumbledore began plucking sheets of parchment off his desk and compiling them into a single stack. “You will stay in your quarters here. I’ll prepare projects for you like Severus has been doing. The sooner we can get you both back where you belong, the better.” 

“Can’t I stay with Snape, then? If we’re both doing the same work-”

“Some time apart will be good,” Dumbledore said flatly. “Severus is taking risks that he shouldn't be under your influence.”

“My influence?” Sirius spat. “This is - you are - I won’t do it. I’m not imprisoning myself for you once again.”

“I won’t force you,” Dumbledore said. “You always have the option of leaving my protection, forsaking the Order. You are, of course, in the body of a Death Eater who only avoided Azkaban due to my assurance that he would stay in my care. I do believe that right now the Ministry would love the publicity of a Death Eater’s arrest. Not to mention Voldemort’s displeasure when you inform him that you’ve become, essentially, useless.” 

Dumbledore extended the stack of papers and Sirius took them though every ounce of him wanted to pull out his wand and start casting curses. He wouldn’t do well with Snape’s wand against a flobberworm, nevermind the wizard that took down Grindelwald. 

The papers were an outline of different avenues he could research, the ones Snape had mentioned - permanent Polyjuice, undetectable Transfiguration, and some others.

Gritting his teeth, Sirius asked, “What do I say when Voldemort hears I’ve been fired?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Dumbledore said, suddenly as pleasantly calm as ever. He smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time.”

Sirius took the longest way back to the dungeons he could manage. It included doubling back through several floors and dawdling on each step of each staircase long as possible. It was like being arrested all over again only instead of two Aurors dragging him to a cell, he was doing it to himself.

Despite knowing that it would arouse Dumbledore’s wrath, Sirius went to Snape’s quarters first. 

“Why the fuck did you say anything?” he exploded the second the door shut behind them.

“I had to,” Snape said stonily, turning away and staring off into his own kitchen. “He needs to know everything. If we start keeping secrets from Albus then the war is already lost.”

“That’s what he’s convinced you of, I suppose.” Sirius stepped closer. “You know he fired me? He wants me to stay in my quarters like you’ve been doing?”

“He informed me of his plan, yes.” Snape looked back at Sirius then. “It’s not the worst thing. Keep yourself busy with the research and practice your Occlumency. Voldemort will likely call you once he learns you’ve been fired. Tell him it’s a ruse to give you more time to do things for the Order. The fact that you’re angry at Albus is a good thing. Let the anger color everything in your mind. Between your whirlpool and that, he should be satisfied.”

“I can’t,” Sirius whispered. “Severus, I can’t.”

“You will,” he answered firmly. “You must.”


	13. Chapter 13

Sirius survived Azkaban by being Snuffles. He could be the dog for days at a time and each day would pass like a blink, with his mind deadened from human worries and his body operating on a much more instinctual level.

He’d still suffered. He’d still been on the brink of madness many times. He’d yelled, he’d cursed, he’d rubbed his fingertips bloody clawing at the walls. Azkaban had still been a living hell. But he’d always had Snuffles.

Now he didn’t.

Of course there were no Dementors spreading misery in his quarters at Hogwarts. He had a comfortable bed, food provided three times a day, and he could shower and change into clean clothes as often as he wished. Though Dumbledore refused to provide alcohol which was awful on its own.

Once a week, a new set of books was deposited just inside his sitting room - some novels, some to be studied to help him switch his body back. He had parchment and quills, privacy, and the knowledge that he could leave at any time.

But in some ways that was the hardest part of all. No one locked him in. He could walk out of the door, out of the dungeons, and out of Hogwarts at any time he chose. The battle of staying or leaving waged constantly in his mind.

Not to mention the ever present anxiety over when he would next be called to Voldemort’s side to commit more murder and misdeeds. He had been called, once, only two days after the firing. Voldemort demanded an explanation. He appeared satisfied with the one Sirius gave him and sent him back to Hogwarts with little fanfare. 

But what would happen next time? What was happening out in the school, in the world? How was Harry? How was Severus?

Sirius could not help but think of Severus often. He almost hated him for snitching to Dumbledore and causing the confinement in the first place. Mostly he missed him and he wondered how he’d stayed cooped up for so long. It was the mental fortitude, probably. Severus had it and Sirius didn’t. Severus had pulled off being a spy in two wars and Sirius hadn’t even managed a couple months.

Then there were the times Sirius laid in bed practically vibrating from how badly he wanted to cross the short distance between their rooms just to fuck him. The fantasy played out in his mind over and over - the door opening, pushing Severus onto the couch, kissing him and thrusting a hand down his robes. In his imagination, they were always back in their own bodies.

So the weeks passed in a roil of bitterness, anger, dejection, and despair. Then he had the idea, one hour when he laid lamenting his inability to be Snuffles. He’d done it once - why not do it again? He’d make Severus an Animagus. He’d have something to do and, if he was successful, an escape from it all.

Of course, he’d have to leave his room and that required preparation.

He started leaving notes each week when he returned the books. Through several correspondences he was able to have Dumbledore leave him an owl, and from there he was able to write to Madam Pince and request specific books. He made sure to ask for several books alongside the one he actually wanted, in case Dumbledore was reviewing his checkouts for patterns. 

He also owled Harry, who responded eagerly, and Severus, who didn’t write back.

Once he had all the texts he needed, Sirius recreated a rudimentary Marauders’ Map. Most of his memories of making the map were stolen by the Dementors or blurred by age but he remembered enough to make short work of the process. This new map was far less sophisticated - it showed if someone was present but not exactly who it was. Most of the hidden passages were not labeled and it didn’t wipe blank. But it sufficed for Sirius’s purpose. He called it only the map because he was too wrung out for any sort of cleverness.

Armed with the map, Sirius began taking field trips in the dead of night. He went out on a full moon to steal a Mandrake leaf and place it in his mouth. He remembered the feel of it wadded up in his cheek, prickly and rough. James had swallowed his first one in his sleep and, though the memory filled him with an angry chill, Pettigrew had repeatedly spit his out at dinner, delaying his transformation a full term.

They’d thought it funny at the time. Now it felt like a missed sign. The coward probably hadn’t wanted to transform at all, had probably been stalling to try and get out of it. 

During the month he held the leaf in his mouth, Sirius collected the other supplies from the Potions storerooms. He also rummaged through offices and storerooms looking for alcohol but never found any. He could have gone to the kitchen as there was usually at least wine and sherry but he didn’t feel like dealing with the potential aftermath if the elves reported seeing him.

By the time the next full moon rose, Sirius was able to complete the potion and bury it on the grounds to wait for the next storm. 

It didn’t take too long, fortunately. Then Sirius was back in his quarters, holding the phial of red liquid. He struggled to remember the first time he and James had transformed. If he concentrated very hard he could hear James laugh in triumph but that was about it. 

Sirius said the incantation and drank the Potion. Heat seared through him, centering on his heart which beat very rapidly in his chest. The heat slid into pain and Sirius fell to his knees, hands clawing at his heart. He didn’t remember this. He had enough presence of mind to hope he hadn’t killed Severus’s body. Then he slumped forward and everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes again, he thought for a moment he’d blinded himself. Everything was gray and fuzzy. When he tried to reach a hand up to rub at his eyes, he was greeted instead with a small paw. 

Sirius carefully navigated his way to the bathroom, mostly by groping around the quarters. He was used to the dull, low-color vision of Snuffles but this was even worse. 

Once he pushed open the bathroom door, he could see quite clearly. No color but the edges were sharp - there was the toilet, the shower, the medicine cabinet. Sirius jumped off the floor and onto the sink to peer at his reflection. 

He was a raccoon. He’d made Severus into a raccoon. And that was why he could see in the bathroom - the lights were off.

Sirius would have grinned if he was in human form but instead he scampered back down and went around the apartment jumping up and turning the lights off. Once everything was dark, he could see as well as he ever did if not better.

Then Sirius forced himself to relax and pass the control over to the raccoon mind. Soon, it was like he was dreaming, aware of what was going on but not in control. Time passed in flashes - he was sleeping on the kitchen table, then he was rolling around in the bed, and then he was digging through the trash.

Sirius enjoyed the quicker passage of time. It was nearly a week before he bothered to change back to Severus’s body.


	14. Chapter 14

Sirius stumbled through the door of his bathroom and spun the faucet knobs with shaking hands. He splashed cold water on his face and the sink filled with red as blood washed off his face. Only the blood kept coming, seeping from a deep wound slashed through his eyebrow. His robes were already saturated from the gash in his side.

Sirius fumbled through a few basic healing spells but Severus’s wand was, as ever, nearly useless. Eventually as the dizziness set in, Sirius pulled out the map. He left bloody fingerprints on the edges as he confirmed there was no one in the corridor between their quarters. Then he stuffed the map into a pocket on the dry side of his robes and hobbled out of his room.

Severus took quite a while to answer. When he did his face was twisted in displeasure. It untwisted quickly when he realized the state Sirius was in.

Within half an hour, Sirius was healed and cleaned, wearing unbloodied robes, reclined on Severus’s sofa with a glass of whiskey in one hand. 

It had been a long time since Sirius had seen his own face - several months, if his haphazard accounting of time was close to correct. It was an odd feeling to look at himself and feel barely a glimmer of recognition. Severus had let the beard grow thick and wild; his hair was equally unkempt. It was close to the image on the Wanted posters except Severus looked clean, healthy, and not nearly so insane.

“What happened?” Severus asked after Sirius finished draining his glass. His voice was husky and low - probably from disuse. Sirius sympathized.

“Another?” Sirius asked back, pushing his glass forward. It occurred to him how unfair it was that Severus had alcohol and he didn’t but it didn’t seem the appropriate time to complain. 

Once Severus refilled the drink, Sirius told the story of the Death Eater meeting. A planned slaughter, more like, and one that had thankfully gone belly up when a group of witches ran from a nearby home and joined the fight. Sirius was grateful he hadn’t witnessed more death even at the price of his own pain and suffering. The people whose home they’d targeted had been far more innocent than the Azkaban guards - their only crime was being a Muggle-Witch pairing.

“Voldemort wasn’t there, of course, not important enough for him to go himself. Gave directions and sent us on our way. Pettigrew wasn’t either or I would have made sure one of my spells hit him. It was only about half the Death Eaters, come to think of it.”

“I’ll send for Albus,” Severus said and Sirius recoiled.

“Surely you’re joking. I’m not telling him shit.” Sirius set his drink down. “How would you send for him?” 

Severus looked at Sirius expressionlessly for a moment and then pulled out his wand. He waved it without a word and a silvery doe erupted from the tip. It pranced in a circle before stopping at Sirius’s side.

“Like this,” Sirius’s voice - his real voice, so Severus’s voice now, he supposed - said from the doe and then the Patronus faded away.

“You’ve been able to do that and you didn’t teach me? We could’ve been talking this whole time,” Sirius said indignantly.

“Surely it would be suspicious for two Patronuses to be dashing back and forth across the corridor,” Severus answered evenly. 

“Is that why you didn’t answer my owl?” Severus nodded. Sirius waited a moment, internally debating. Despite the horrific aftermath of the last time, he couldn’t help himself. “Polyjuice?”

Severus tried the blank stare again but this time Sirius saw a few flickers of warring emotion in it. He knew he was pitting Severus against Dumbledore by asking but the chance of getting back his own body was impossible to pass up.

“Fine,” Severus relented and started to turn. Sirius leapt off the sofa to grab his arm.

“You can’t tell Dumbledore.” 

It took nearly a minute but eventually Severus said, “I won’t.”

Thirty minutes later Sirius was Sirius again, three whiskeys in, and carefully pushing himself inside Severus, who was on his back stroking himself and looking at Sirius so intensely that it was almost too much after such a long solitude.

Sirius leaned down and kissed Severus. It was better than he remembered, especially when Severus muttered a breathy _fuck_ against Sirius’s lips. He felt safe, whole, complete, and unbearably turned on.

When he came and Severus still hadn’t, he pulled out and took him in his mouth and it took very little to get him there. Then Sirius crawled up beside Severus, kissed his neck, and whispered into his skin, “I love you.”

He’d thought it the entire time they fucked so he had to say it. This could very well be the last time they saw each other and he’d learned too many lessons about regret to hold back. It was unbearable to think about something happening and Severus not knowing that he had become Sirius’s other half, certainly without trying. It had been, what, a few weeks? Spread out over a few months? But Severus had worked his way into Sirius’s heart so, there it was.

Severus stiffened against Sirius’s words but didn’t pull away. Sirius accepted that and moved to play with Severus’s hair.

“You can’t sleep here,” was all Severus said. Sirius hummed and otherwise didn’t answer. “I mean it.”

“I’ll leave,” Sirius mumbled. “Right now?”

Severus reached up and touched the hand in his hair. “I suppose it doesn’t have to be right now.”

A few hours later, Sirius crawled into his own bed. The sheets were chill from the cold dungeon air. He missed Severus’s heat and his heartbeat and his lips. But he finally had to admit that this was better than Azkaban, after all. Leagues better. He fell asleep to the memory of his reunion with Severus and there was no Dementor to steal it away.

The next morning, with the glow of his body next to Severus’s fading, the horrible memories of the night before began to flood him. He remembered the wife screaming, _not my baby_. He thought Lily would have reacted the same, only this woman had been saved and Lily had not.

When he couldn’t push the thoughts away, Sirius turned into the raccoon. He hadn’t given the animal a nickname - it was Severus’s counterpart to name, if they ever got to switch back. And if they didn’t then maybe, one day, however slim the odds, they could at least be together out of their rooms and Severus could name it then.

Being the raccoon dulled his remorse and grief. He spent the afternoon scurrying around the quarters seeking mischief.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what I think I’m doing writing like...an actual plot? Idk if this is still enjoyable to anyone but I’m just going with it!
> 
> Warning for moderate description of murder in this chapter

It was June by Sirius’s best estimation, though he couldn’t be sure exactly which day. As the month wore on, the map showed dots congregating on the grounds, by the lake, and in the library. Sirius was confident that with the students out of the castle, he would be able to convince Severus they could risk a walk down the corridor every now and then. He spent his days alternating between dreams of more frequent visits and the blurred muted existence of the raccoon.

One afternoon his mark burned and Sirius answered the call with only minor trepidation. Voldemort had not tried to breach his mind thus far, had in fact paid him very little attention at all. So Sirius barely worried about blowing Severus’s cover anymore. He did worry about being sent to torture and kill but surely not in the middle of the day? Come to think of it, it was the first time the call had come earlier than ten in the evening.

Sirius landed in a circular stone room with dozens of doors upon the wall. A few more Death Eaters popped into the room - Bellatrix, Malfoy, and Pettigrew among them. It was far from a full gathering and if Sirius had to guess this was only the most trusted. They all turned and faced Voldemort. He stood with his back to them as he considered the doors.

“This one,” Voldemort said eventually and pushed one open. “Follow me.” Follow they did, through strange rooms full of mystifying contraptions. They stopped in one with rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves and on each shelf sat dozens of glass orbs. Sirius didn’t recognize them or know what they were for.

“Lucius and Bellatrix have been hard at work this year,” Voldemort said with a curling smile. It sent shivers down Sirius’s spine. Nothing that made Voldemort happy could be good. “Very shortly, Harry Potter will make an appearance. You will capture him for me - follow Lucius’s directions.” Voldemort’s gaze unfixed as he stared at another door at one the end of the room. “I have some business to attend to briefly. I will return and I expect Harry Potter to be in chains.” Then he stepped forward and through the door he’d been eyeing.

Only one thing bounced around in Sirius’s head - _Harry, Harry, Harry_. Sirius knew this was absolutely the time to blow his cover - he could never forgive himself if Harry was put at risk.

How to do it? Should he start blasting curses with his unreliable wand? Try to Apparate and inform Dumbledore? Run back the way they came and hope he found someone helpful eventually?

None of the options seemed great. Sirius dithered only for a few moments but that was all it took for footsteps to echo through the hall. Malfoy and Bellatrix exchanged smug smirks when Harry stepped out from behind a shelf. Sirius was horrified to see him and the other students that trailed behind him - Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ginny. He knew them from the months he’d spent teaching them and the thought of any of them coming to harm made it hard to breathe.

What could he do now? There were too many for him to try to grab and run. He would have to jump sides and duel with the teenagers; that seemed his only option.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” Malfoy said softly. Sirius stepped forward, intent on protecting the children. Bellatrix swiveled to look at him, her lips pursed in irritated disbelief, and she waved him back.

“Lucius has it,” she hissed and Harry turned at her voice. He locked eyes with Sirius and they stared at each other for a moment. Sirius wished desperately that Harry could know who he really was. He’d find out eventually, surely. Severus would figure out how to be back in his own body and then Harry would know his godfather had died for him. Just a shame that it had to be in front of him, as well.

The room exploded.

Not an explosion, he quickly realized - but at once, all the glass orbs shattered and ghostly figures appeared in their place. They moaned and yelled and whispered in unison, a cacophony of unintelligible words.

Bellatrix screamed, an unearthly scream that reminded Sirius of Azkaban, and turned her wand on Ron Weasley. “I can’t kill Potter but _you_ -”

Her sentence was drowned out by heavy footsteps as the source of the explosion revealed itself - a dozen Order of the Phoenix members streamed into the room and within moments the room filled with shouts and beams of light. Remus Lupin gathered the teens and hurried them out of the room, with some resistance from Harry it seemed.

As soon as they were gone, a switch flipped in Sirius’s brain. A savage brawl raged around him and his wand was only a little more helpful than a pine needle. But he didn’t worry about that because, looking across the room, he noticed something.

 _Pettigrew_.

The little traitor was not fighting. He’d never been good at dueling and instead of taking his chances he’d squeezed behind a row of shelves and was hiding, eyes darting wildly as if searching for an escape route. 

With Harry safe, nothing else mattered in that moment. He’d let Pettigrew slip through his fingers twice. It was not going to happen again, no matter the cost.

Sirius padded quietly down the aisle until he reached Pettigrew’s quaking form.

“Oh, Snape,” Pettigrew said. “What, er-”

“I’ve heard enough whimpering from you,” Sirius said. “Two years ago in the Shrieking Shack when you begged a thirteen year old for your life. Now look at you. Cowering while everyone around you fights.” 

Pettigrew glanced at the mass of bodies and spells and then back to Sirius.

“Snape, I don’t-”

“Shut up,” Sirius said and then his hands were at Pettigrew’s throat. “This is for James and Lily.”

It was harder than he’d expected. In all the times he’d dreamed about that exact moment, Pettigrew had instantly gone weak and gasping. 

When it really happened, he fought. He gouged lines in Sirius’s hands and arms, he kicked and twisted - his whole body struggled against Sirius.

It took a long time too but Pettigrew did eventually go limp. Sirius released his body and it thudded to the floor. His eyes bulged, purple and red, and a trickle of blood was drying under both nostrils. Looking down at the man that had ruined everything, Sirius thought he’d still gotten off too easy.

He was able to cast some cleansing charms on Pettigrew to remove his own blood - Severus’s blood, they would think, and Sirius didn’t want to risk anything tracing back to him. He healed his wounds the best he could - they didn’t disappear but at least scabbed over.

Sirius stepped away from the body to an empty room - the fight had moved and he hadn’t noticed. He followed distant sounds back the way they’d come and into the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.

Harry was there - how had he not been escorted somewhere else safe yet? - and the rest of his friends and Dumbledore. Sirius didn’t feel true relief - he hated the man too much for that. But he was objectively glad to have a powerful wizard protecting Harry.

He noticed then what he’d missed upon entering - a gathering of Death Eaters, seemingly bound and gagged, squirming against invisible restraints. The only face Sirius didn’t see was Bellatrix’s. The Minister of Magic stood over them, several Aurors at his side, and a few yards away stood a crowd of Ministry employees craning their necks to peer at the captured wizards. Sirius caught snatches of words - _You-Know-Who_ and _he’s back_.

Dumbledore crossed the lobby swiftly and whispered, urgently, “You need to leave.”

Sirius thought of Pettigrew’s body lying on the floor of the room full of shelves. He wondered if he should say something to try to throw Dumbledore off from the truth but he couldn’t come up with anything so he only turned and hurried to the elevators that would bring him out of the Ministry.

He’d only just stepped out onto the street when the Dark Mark began to burn once more. Sirius turned down an alley, away from the Muggles, and only when he was confident he was unseen did he press his wand to the mark.

It was after he landed and took in the room that Sirius wondered if he should have refused the call. Could he? Would the pain grow ever more intense until he went insane? Could Voldemort kill him through his mark? He hadn’t ever tried to find out the answers but, looking around, he felt he should have.

Voldemort stood next to a small pile of bodies - Death Eaters. They weren’t stunned - one face turned toward Sirius, Carter Jugson, showed open, glassy eyes and a slack mouth.

They’d had an easier death than Pettigrew and that thought, that Pettigrew had suffered at least a bit, gave Sirius savage comfort.

Bellatrix lay on the other side, alone, unconscious but with a chest that rose and fell steadily. 

“Severus,” Voldemort said evenly. “Do you remember the prophecy you brought to me, so many years ago now?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sirius lied automatically as his mind scrambled to recall anything helpful. Severus had never mentioned a prophecy. Maybe he’d used another word? A prediction, a hypothesis? 

“I know you do,” Voldemort said. “How could you forget? The prophecy that caused you so much grief. You begged me not to kill that Mudblood. And did you know that I should have listened to you? Had I spared the girl, the boy would never have been protected by her death. Unprotected, he would have died.”

Voldemort drew closer to Sirius as he spoke, his red eyes gleaming, and Sirius carefully avoided eye contact while also desperately throwing up his wall. It was difficult to concentrate on Occlumency when his mind spun in circles trying to process what Voldemort was saying. He had to be talking about Lily. Lily and Harry and, though unmentioned, James. 

“So it caused me grief as well, in its own way. Grief and pain and failure. And at every step, I’ve been thwarted. Not by Harry Potter, as I often lamented. I realized it today when I left you all to inspect the Veil. If I had been less confident in myself, we would have the prophecy and Harry Potter would be dead. I thought I could do both at once.

“It’s not the boy that gets in my way. It’s my ego, my hubris. That’s the classic tale, isn’t it, Severus? The man who would have success if he could only get out of his own way.”

Voldemort moved so close that his breath ghosted over Sirius’s neck as he said, “So I will step aside. It will not be my pleasure to kill Harry Potter. It will be yours.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sirius laid the copy of the Daily Prophet out on the coffee table in front of Severus. He sat on his sofa, clutching a cup of tea, looking lost for the first time that Sirius could ever recall. He’d shaved his face and the bare skin, near translucent from lack of sun, was now strange. He’d cut his hair too, a neat trim that did a lot for the hairline that had begun drawing back. He looked clean and professional in his robes, ready to walk into the Ministry and receive a full pardon.

Severus leaned forward to peer down at the newspaper and Sirius looked with him. The front page headline for the last several weeks had been Voldemort’s reappearance. But a few weeks back, on page 7, there had been an article on the discovery of Peter Pettigrew’s body during the Ministry attack - nothing was written to imply that he’d been murdered. He was a Death Eater killed while attacking a government building and if anyone had doubts or suspicions about that, it wasn’t shared in the Prophet.

The headline in the morning’s paper read _Sirius Black: Innocent of All Charges._ The article went on to describe the very brief investigation and subsequent overturn of Sirius’s conviction. It listed the reparations Sirius would receive - or Severus, rather, since he inhabited the body that had been wrongfully imprisoned.

A year earlier, Sirius might have been very bitter about the truth coming out when he wouldn’t be the one benefiting from it. Instead, he was only pleased for Severus. He’d handled the last eight months of confinement with grace but still, freedom had to be a relief.

“Are you going with me?” Severus asked as he finished reading the article and leaned back.

“There’s going to be photographers and journalists,” Sirius said. “It wouldn’t make sense for us to appear together.” He reached out and took Severus’s hand. “I’ll be here when you return.”

“Albus said I can start dining in the Great Hall,” Severus said. “Take walks on the grounds.”

“Fuck what Albus said! You can do whatever you want. You can Apparate to Paris and scale the Eiffel Tower if you want. You’re an entirely free man - no one hunting you, no Dark Lord or demented Headmaster expecting your submission.” Sirius paused because he didn’t want to say the next part but then he pushed on. “You don’t ever have to come back here if you don’t want to.”

“ _You_ can’t leave,” Severus pointed out.

Sirius shrugged. “Now that Umbridge is gone and I’m rehired, I can at least leave my quarters. It’s an improvement.”

“I’m coming back,” Severus said firmly. “The last rat I tested the Polyjuice on kept the changed appearance for a month. I believe I can persuade Albus that it’s long enough for us to switch places. The odds of us being unable to obtain the potion for thirty days are slim to none, I would say.”

“Right,” Sirius said, trying to hide how uneasy the conversation made him. “Well, off you go then. Enjoy your pardon and new riches and all that.”

A part of Sirius was honestly disappointed when Severus returned several hours later. He wanted Severus around but it also meant that now Sirius had to spill everything he’d been withholding. He’d been partially hoping Severus would take off and make the entire thing easier for them.

Severus brought wine with him, always the thoughtful one. With the students home, neither of them had to be confined anymore so they went out and sat by the lake as dusk settled over the empty grounds. Sirius downed a glass immediately, as was his custom, and sipped more slowly on the second. As badly as he wanted to, he didn’t think getting drunk would help the conversation they were about to have.

Severus detailed the pardoning ceremony, the pushy journalists, the man that had sidled up to Severus and tried to buy him a drink. He finished the tale with, “And Albus offered me the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. I accepted.”

Sirius startled at the news, spilling wine down the front of his robes. Severus smirked as he spelled them dry. 

“I thought you’d like that,” Severus said. His voice was low and husky. Nearly every part of Sirius wanted to give in to the moment. He could kiss Severus, they could fuck right there in the grass on the water’s edge, he could get wonderfully drunk and fall asleep warm and happy next to the man he loved.

But the conversation had to happen and Sirius had gotten better at doing hard things. So he set his glass down next to him and stared at the lake as he said, “There’s some things I haven’t told you.”

“Such as?” Severus asked, with a relaxed smile as though expecting a joke. He’d had a great day. Sirius hated to ruin it.

“I killed Pettigrew,” he said and Severus’s face went flat. 

“Oh?” was all he said. Sirius rushed on.

“Voldemort told me to kill Harry.”

“I was under the impression he wanted that honor for himself.” Severus had gone cold and distant that easily. Sirius hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

“He said trying to kill Harry himself has been his greatest mistake, something like that. So he told me to go ahead and do it. Figured it’d be easy for me to stun him and sneak him off campus one day, or just kill him in a detention.”

“And you told Albus this immediately?” Severus asked.

“I haven’t told him anything,” Sirius said and though he didn’t want to make the situation worse he felt a familiar surge of irritation at Severus’s constant obedience to Dumbledore. The sudden prickliness inside him made him spit out, “I haven’t asked him about the prophecy either.”

“What question could you even ask?” Severus’s voice had gone soft, silky, and dangerous.

“How he could work with you after you sold out James and Lily.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, not how he’d meant to bring it up. The words were jumbling in his head and in his mouth at Severus’s sudden shift. Though he’d dreaded the conversation, he’d truthfully expected understanding and comfort. Not distance and, at the last statement, rage.

“You dare,” Severus said, voice barely more than a whisper and the rest of the sentence seemed to get choked out by fury.

“Severus-”

“I think you were right,” Severus interrupted, smoothly gliding to a stand. “Why should I stay at Hogwarts? There’s nothing for me here.”

Sirius scrambled up to follow him but Severus whirled around and pointed his wand. The jet of red light hit Sirius in the chest and then he knew nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

One second Sirius was standing on the grounds at sunset, arguing with Severus, and the next he was in a bed, Severus looming over him.

“I’m sorry,” Severus said immediately and Sirius rubbed the side of his head where he felt a headache forming. His fingers brushed the tender start of a lump.

“What happened?” Sirius asked dazedly and then, “You stunned me.”

“I did,” Severus said and took a seat on the side of Sirius’s bed. He looked the most uncomposed Sirius had ever seen him.“I was angry. I - I never wanted you to find out about the prophecy. I never wanted you to have to kill someone. I never wanted _any_ of this and I can’t help but feel responsible. I should have made the potion better, faster. I should have prevented this all somehow.”

“Think of where we’d be now if we hadn’t switched,” Sirius said. He hadn’t been angry at Severus out on the grounds and he wasn’t angry at him now, not when he was so close and looked so contrite. “I probably would have rushed right into the Ministry with the rest of the Order. Hell, I probably would’ve died there instead of Pettigrew.”

“Don’t say that,” Severus said. So Sirius said nothing. Instead he sat up to take Severus’s face in his hands and kissed him, thoroughly, hoping by the way Severus kissed him back that he understood how Sirius felt - none it mattered, none of it would come between them. They’d been thrown together by fate, it seemed, and Sirius didn’t intend to allow them to fall apart.

He pulled off Severus’s robes and tugged him down into the bed. Sirius thought a lot of sappy things, he murmured _I love you_ over and over into Severus’s throat and cheek and ear, and when he finished and slipped out, Severus wrapped his arms around Sirius’s chest and said, _I love you too_.

In the morning, they talked about the things they hadn’t the day before. Sirius assured Severus he felt absolutely no remorse for killing Pettigrew, even using the brutal method that he had. Severus explained how he’d overheard the prophecy and rushed to tell his master at the time and the overwhelming sorrow he’d felt ever since Voldemort decided it meant Lily Potter.

“You did love her, then?” Sirius asked, without jealousy. They still laid in bed, the sheets pushed down to their waists. Sirius traced a pattern in Severus’s chest hair - his own thick curls, though it was getting to the point that it was harder to identify with that body. “She always said you didn’t.”

“I loved her. I didn’t want her, not really.” A sly smile crossed Severus’s face. “I always fancied you a bit.”

“You did _not_ ,” Sirius denied.

“Oh, I loathed you, don’t get me wrong. However, I would have enjoyed a violent tryst or two with you.” Severus paused and looked away, the slightest flush crawling across his cheeks as he added, “You know, the very first thing I did when we switched bodies was touch myself - touch you.”

“You did not,” Sirius repeated, faintly this time.

“I thought it was a dream and I fully intended to take advantage of it.” Severus smirked. 

“I spent _weeks_ not jerking off because I thought it would be…” Sirius struggled to find the right word and settled on, “disrespectful.” Severus snorted.

“I find that very hard to believe.” He leaned down and kissed Sirius in the way that always hardened him in seconds flat. “You’re insatiable.” 

Later, after fucking and eating breakfast, they agreed (Sirius with great reluctance) to meet with Dumbledore and tell him of Voldemort’s latest plan.

As they walked through the corridors, Severus asked, quietly, “Don’t you think it’s my fault Potter is dead?”

Sirius took his hand and answered, easily, “Only one person made the choice to kill James.” And he meant it. He’d made peace with all the mistakes that had led to James’s death the moment Pettigrew’s life slipped out of his body. All that was left was to deal with his actual murderer.

Severus squeezed Sirius’s hand but then pulled away and they traveled the rest of the way to the office in comfortable silence.

Dumbledore welcomed them, Severus far more warmly, and listened as Severus explained what Voldemort had said and his progress with the Polyjuice.

“A month is an impressive length of time, though longer would be better,” Dumbledore said when Severus finished speaking. “Are you certain that success with rats means it will work on wizards?”

“No,” Severus admitted. “We’d have to be our own guinea pigs. Drink it and see how long it takes to wear off. But the preliminary results are promising.” 

“And considering the circumstances…” Dumbledore trailed off and his eyes flickered to Sirius. “It is of the utmost importance that you return to your rightful post.” 

Sirius resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He’d done a _fantastic_ job, all things considered. Minus the tiny act of committing unnecessary murder but Dumbledore didn’t even know about that.

“Agreed,” Severus said. “I do request that you allow Sirius to keep the teaching post you offered to me, if he desires it.” 

“Then you two still...?” Dumbledore looked between them once again. Severus nodded. “I see. If you want the job, Sirius, it is yours. I only ask that we all remember what is most important here - defeating Voldemort and protecting Harry.”

“Agreed,” Sirius said emphatically, echoing Severus.

“It is a comfort to me that there is only so much harm you can do as Sirius Black,” Dumbledore continued. “But you both must remember that between the two of you, it is Severus in the gravest danger right now.”

“If we had quarters together,” Sirius said quickly, “we’d do a lot less running back and forth. Less risk of getting caught.”

Dumbledore said, “Once Severus is back in his body serving the Order, I trust his judgment. If you think rooming together is wise then I will have the elves prepare your original quarters to house you both.” Dumbledore paused. “Severus, please bring the Polyjuice to the hospital ward. You will take it there and Poppy will monitor for any adverse reactions. Once she is confident you are both well, please come to me immediately.” 

A quarter of an hour later, Sirius and Severus laid in separate hospital beds. Madam Pomfrey bore a tray with two glasses of water and two separate bottles of Severus’s experimental Polyjuice.

“For the record,” she said as they each added their hair to a bottle, “I think this is a horrible idea.”

“Cheers,” Sirius said and switched potions with Severus. In unison, they brought the bottles to their lips and drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how Polyjuice and the Dark Mark would really work together but let’s just say it does for the sake of this story.


	18. Chapter 18

The Weasley home was often discussed at Grimmauld Place, as many of the members had grown up or currently lived there. Sirius had heard about the chickens, the gnomes, and the crooked floors.

As Sirius strolled up the dirt path to the house, he thought that they’d all forgotten to describe the charm. Sirius could perfectly envision how it would have been ten years earlier - free of wartime worries, full of toddlers and young children running around, probably barefoot and sticky. It was far better than the aloof air of his own childhood home.

“Sirius!” Harry burst out the front door, grinning and waving wildly. Sirius hurried the last few paces and when he reached his godson he threw his arms around him instinctually. Harry stiffened under his touch - not out of distaste, it didn’t seem, but out of unfamiliarity. Then he relaxed and his arms came up to hug Sirius back.

“Missed you, kid,” he said into the top of Harry’s head and then stepped back. 

“Where were you?” Harry demanded. “Professor Dumbledore said you were on a mission for the Order and no one would say anything more.”

“Dumbledore said it right,” Sirius said. “Then when Pettigrew turned up dead I had to settle a couple things. But have you heard the news?”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting married too,” Harry said, frowning. “That’s the only kind of news anyone shares here.”

Sirius laughed, an enthusiastic sound that boomed from his chest, and he startled slightly at the sound. Truthfully he was still adjusting to being back in his own body. It felt natural and foreign all at once - he remembered laughing like this a year ago but he also remembered Severus laughing that way too and the memories blended together in ways that were often unnerving.

“Nothing like that,” Sirius assured him. “I’m teaching Defense this year.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, grinning. “We’ll see each other all the time.”

“Harry!” Molly’s voice cracked like a whip from inside the house. “Invite Sirius inside, won’t you?”

Sirius spent a pleasant afternoon at the Burrow, though underneath it all lurked unsaid worries about the war. It was a Saturday but Arthur Weasley was at work the entire visit and the twins were prone to checking the front and back doors at random intervals.

Sirius made his excuses to leave before dinner with several promises made to Harry that he would see him the following week at the start of term. Then he walked the path back towards the village until he was far enough away from the Burrow’s wards to Apparate.

“How was it?” Severus asked as Sirius dropped into his seat for dinner. The staff did not question them on the friendly truce they seemed to have struck but they’d both agreed to stop eating meals together once the students returned. The Slytherin students would be watching Severus, eager to report any gossip back to their parents. 

“Wonderful,” Sirius said. “Have I thanked you for brewing this Polyjuice yet?”

“Only half a dozen times today,” Severus answered. “Disappointing since I believe it was fifteen times yesterday.”

“Well thank you,” Sirius said. “Thank you, thank you, and thank you.”

“That’s only nine,” Severus pointed out.

“I’ll thank you six more times tonight,” Sirius said, very quietly.

Later, back in their quarters, he did just that. When they laid together tangled naked in the sheets, Sirius reached up and ran a finger across Severus’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips.

“I didn’t mind having this face but you wear it so much better.” 

Severus captured Sirius’s hand in his and brought it down to his mouth, placing kisses along Sirius’s knuckles.

“You know-”

“Severus!” Dumbledore called and Sirius cursed under his breath. As part of the renovations to Severus’s quarters, Dumbledore had added a fireplace that connected directly to his office. He used it often and at any time he pleased.

“Tell him to bugger off,” Sirius grumbled even as he watched Severus slide out of bed and quickly dress.

“I’ll be right back,” Severus said and strode off to the sitting room.

Sirius tried to stay awake but it was late and he was full from dinner and sated from the sex. He slipped off into sleep but woke when Severus climbed back into bed.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Half past two,” Severus answered.

“You were with Dumbledore that long?” Sirius asked. Irritation pulsed through him, waking him more fully.

Severus was silent for quite a while and then said, “I suppose you’ll notice it even if I don’t tell you. Albus was injured. I was assisting him.”

“He couldn’t have asked Pomfrey?”

“No,” Severus said with unusual severity, a firm indication he was done discussing the subject. “He could not.”

Sirius kept his mouth shut since that seemed to be what Severus wanted but he took a long time to fall back asleep, stewing in anger over the relationship between the man he loved and the old coot he hated. It was, he thought as he tossed and turned, just one more reason to welcome the end of the war.


	19. Chapter 19

“You made it through September,” Severus said, raising his goblet of water with a smirk. “I imagine you’ll drink to that.”

Sirius clinked his glass against Severus’s and then drained it. He was drunk - when was he not, these days? - and entertaining very appealing notions of pushing Severus down flat on the couch and having his way with him.

“Made anyone cry this week?” Severus continued.

“No,” Sirius said. “That was only the first week, and only twice, I told you that. Also, I didn’t make them cry. Not my fault they believed the lies.”

“Not your fault they lived through you tearing through the castle with a knife, you mean,” Severus said.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Sirius complained, prodding Severus’s calf with his toes. “You should be my shoulder to cry on.”

“I’m sorry,” Severus said, totally unapologetically, “but it is nice not to be the most hated professor, for once.”

“Your reputation is earned,” Sirius said. “Mine is entirely a miscarriage of justice.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you murder Pettigrew after all? So their fear seems well placed.”

Sirius didn’t answer. Reminded of that day, a full season ago now, when he’d strangled the life out of Peter Pettigrew, he couldn’t help but to replay the scene in his mind. The more time passed, the more the memory became tender and sore when he poked it. It wasn’t guilt that twisted up inside him. Pettigrew had deserved death and much worse. But it was some other unpleasant emotion, something to do with how it had changed what kind of person he fundamentally was. Could he say he was a good person ever again? 

“In other news,” Severus said, with a little less frivolity. He seemed to have realized he’d touched a nerve. “I finally tried out the…” Severus trailed off and waved his hand. Sirius seized the distraction eagerly.

“You transformed? How was it? What did you do? Did you come up with a name?” Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head on his hands. “Tell me everything.”

Severus indulged Sirius with a lengthy tale of his exploits as the still-unnamed raccoon. When he finished, Sirius had tears of mirth in his eyes. He wiped them away with his wrist and when he uncovered his eyes, Severus was inches away.

“Are we done talking yet?” he asked in that low voice that drove Sirius wild. Sirius closed the space between them and pressed their lips together as answer.

A few hours later, Sirius was stirred out of sleep by the sound of a door shutting. He groped over to Severus’s side of the bed and felt only sheets. He sighed but didn’t bother getting up to investigate. Severus was going to Voldemort or Dumbledore and whichever one it was he didn’t need Sirius following him. 

They’d agreed, without ever discussing it, to not talk about the things Snape did for the war. Sirius had gotten his taste of the life of a spy and some days he was stunned he’d made it to the other side. Severus didn’t seem to want a sounding board or an emotional support so Sirius didn’t offer it. They existed as two lovers, two professors, two former enemies occupying each other’s bodies - and they let that be enough. The only real reminder that something more was going on was these late night disappearances and that they dosed each other with Polyjuice on the first of each month.

By winter holidays, most of the non-Slytherin students warmed up to Professor Black. They’d seen Harry greet him enthusiastically each class, go up to him at meals, and spend time with him on the grounds on weekends. The Gryffindors came over easily after that and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws followed though a bit slower.

In contrast, being close with Harry made him hated by most of the Slytherins. It was basically the opposite of how the houses viewed Professor Snape. They laughed about it sometimes, the way the students would react if they knew.

“Professor Black!” Harry greeted, grinning at his own joke as he opened the door to the Burrow on Christmas Day. 

“Let me inside,” Sirius said, playfully shouldering his way back Harry. “And if you call me Professor when we’re not at school I’ll have to give you detention.”

“That’s confusing,” Harry said. “Put your coat up, Mrs. Weasley is going to let Ron have a glass of wine and we’re betting on which will get redder, his face or his ears.”

“One glass?” Sirius scoffed as he hung up his outerwear on the coat rack. “His face, if anything at all. One glass won’t do much.”

An hour later, Sirius sat squished between the Weasley twins while Ron’s fingers twisted at his ear self-consciously.

“You’re making it redder,” Ginny chided and Ron threw up his hands in exasperation.

“You were so wrong, Sirius,” Harry called from his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Hermione. He held his own half-empty glass of wine in his hand. 

“Ah, well. What do I owe you?”

“A week of no homework,” Harry tried.

“Since I’m the one with the red ears, I say a month,” Ron put in.

The conversation continued in the living room and then transferred easily to the table when Molly announced the food was ready. She, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie spelled full plates onto the long wooden table and the Weasleys plus Harry plus Sirius settled in for a lively meal.

By the time Sirius put down his dessert fork, conversation softened to murmurs between seat neighbors. Harry let Ron finish his wine and Ron looked ready to nod off into his remnants of pudding.

“Well, I think-” Arthur started and then fell silent as a steady knock came from the front door. He turned to his wife and asked, “Were we expecting anyone?”

“No,” Molly said and then, hopefully, “Maybe it’s Percy.” 

Bill and Charlie leapt up from the table, wands ready, and Sirius reached into his pocket, just in case. Even after so many months, it was still a relief each time he felt his own wand - the familiar warmth, the steady power.

“It’s just Dumbledore,” Bill called moments before they re-entered the room.

“Did you ask the questions?” Arthur asked and Charlie nodded at his father.

It wasn’t just Dumbledore, Sirius saw, but Dumbledore and Severus. Sirius was startled to see him and tried to catch his eye but Severus refused to look at him, or at anyone for that matter. His face was pinched and unhappy - his usual expression any time it wasn’t just the two of them.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were coming!” Molly fussed as she leapt to her feet. “The leftovers are in the kitchen and-”

“Thank you, Molly,” Dumbledore interrupted smoothly, “and I’m so sorry to intrude. But I only need to speak with Harry for a moment.”

“Harry?” Sirius repeated, feeling protectiveness roll through him. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said quietly, already standing. 

“It will only take a moment,” Dumbledore said with a calm smile. “Though I must say that pie looks delicious. Severus, you should have a slice.”

And so it was that Harry and Dumbledore slipped off to another part of the house while Severus sat stiffly at the dining table, sitting opposite Sirius and surrounded by redheads. Molly recruited her two eldest sons to go into the kitchen with her to make up a plate of leftovers for Dumbledore to take with him.

“So, Severus…” Arthur tried and then floundered for words for several moments.

“Had a good holiday?” Sirius offered helpfully and Arthur nodded.

“Yes, yes. Have you?”

Severus sneered first at Sirius and then at the tabletop. “Fine, thank you, _Arthur_ ,” Severus answered with heavy emphasis to make it clear that he wasn’t speaking to Sirius. 

Sirius held back a smile. He saw Severus storming around corridors and mutinously glaring at meals all the time but it was rare he got to appreciate it up close and personal. It was hard to believe the man before him was the same one that had done all those filthy things to him only the night before.

“You do know,” one of the twins said to Severus, “that it’s Christmas, right?”

“Right. Even you should be happy today,” the other added as their father muttered their names warningly.

“I think I know what your problem is,” the first continued. “You need to get laid.”

The reactions happened simultaneously around the table: Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth, Arthur let out an embarrassed and disbelieving moan, Ron’s cheeks turned scarlet to match his ears, and Ginny grinned widely at her brothers.

“I assure you,” Severus said coolly, “I have no problems in that department.” 

Before anyone else could speak, Dumbledore and Harry re-entered the room. Dumbledore clutched a foil wrapped plate as he waved Severus over.

“Merry Christmas to you all,” Dumbledore said with a smile and a wink and then they both were gone.

As soon as the front door clicked shut, Ron turned to his brothers. “Snape didn’t mean-”

“I would love to see the woman willing to leg over that,” Ginny said.

“Leg over?” her mother repeated sharply, walking in from the kitchen. “Where did you learn that, Ginerva Weasley?”

“Couldn’t be my six older brothers,” Ginny said sourly.

“What happened with Snape and a woman?” Harry asked Hermione.

“Enough!” Arthur Weasley proclaimed. “Bed, all of you! Sirius, will you be staying?”

Sirius said his goodbyes and slipped out of the warm home into the frozen winter air. He almost stumbled in surprise when he walked a few steps off the property and found Severus standing in the snow.

“What are you doing? Won’t you freeze?” 

“Warming charm,” Severus said and his tone added an unspoken _duh_. He still looked rather miserable. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be at the castle until the students return.”

“What? Why?” Sirius asked.

“I can’t tell you,” was all Severus would say. “I only didn’t want you to worry.”

“Can’t stop me from worrying,” Sirius muttered and then, “Can I get a proper goodbye, at least?”

Severus snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s only a week.” And still he glanced over his shoulder at the Burrow - no one stood at the door and all the first floor lights had been turned off - before taking Sirius into his arms and kissing him thoroughly.

Sirius’s last week of holidays was a quiet one, spent grading and lesson planning and, once, playing in the snow as Padfoot. He took to eating meals in their quarters because when he saw Dumbledore, smiling and safe, he wanted to demand to know why he’d talked to Harry and where Severus was.

Severus did come back - right on schedule, the night before the students. He acted completely undisturbed. He also wouldn’t tolerate Sirius’s questions about where he’d been.

That night, just as Sirius was falling asleep, something occurred to him.

“Severus?” Sirius whispered.

“Hmm?”

“How come you haven’t killed Harry yet?” Severus’s eyes opened and clear disbelief crossed his features. “I mean, what are you telling Voldemort? Why hasn’t he killed you for failing him?”

“Do you really want to know?” Severus asked. Sirius nodded his head, one cheek rubbing against his pillowcase as he did so. “I convinced him he should do it himself.”

Sirius sat up. “What?”

“It was the best option. If I was expected to do it, there would be very little forgiveness. We would have had to fake Harry’s death which would have thrown the entire wizarding world into a tailspin. Or I would have had to die. Would you prefer that?”

“Of course not,” Sirius answered sharply. “Don’t even ask me that.”

“Then don’t question me,” Severus shot back. “There are no perfect choices in anything right now.”

Sirius laid back down and, after a minute of stewing, reached out and rested his hand on Severus’s forearm. Severus put his hand atop Sirius’s. Their hands were still clasped together when they woke in the morning.


	20. Chapter 20

Though Sirius was quite busy enough with lessons and worrying about his double agent lover, he did not hesitate to agree when Harry asked for help, even when all the detail he would give was that it was “something important.”

They met one free period in the library. Harry brought a bagful of books which he dumped out onto the table only to select one and stow away the rest. 

“You want Potions tutoring?” Sirius asked as he caught sight of the front cover.

“No,” Harry said, lips twisting into an impatient smile. “I want to know who the Half-Blood Prince is.” Harry flipped the book open at random. “I’ve had his book all year. He made loads of Potions modifications and they’re all brilliant. And he made up spells. Hermione thinks it’s someone dangerous, like Tom Riddle’s diary. If I know who he is, I can get her off my back.”

“So this is really about Hermione?” Sirius asked. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was something more between Harry and Hermione. They were children but they were children in a war and hadn’t that been James and Lily too?

That comparison was not a pleasant one. Harry needed a much happier ending than the one his parents received.

“No,” Harry said and then, slowly, “I hoped it might be my dad, maybe. You never said he was good at Potions but - I don’t know.”

“James would never call himself a prince,” Sirius said instantly and Harry’s shoulders deflated. He dropped into the chair opposite Sirius and put his head up on one fist.

“So you’ve no idea who it could be?”

“Let me see.” Sirius pulled the book closer and peered down at the pages. They were wrinkled, one corner torn and another smeared with a substance that he could only hope was dirt, and all in the margins words had been scrawled around the text.

Sirius looked down for a moment longer and then asked, “You said you don’t know who the Half-Blood Prince is?”

“No,” Harry answered, voice thick with frustration. “Hermione’s never heard of him. I’ve checked the library, couldn’t find anything. Seems like it should be someone important, if he knew all this stuff, don’t you think?”

“Harry,” Sirius said, “that’s Snape’s handwriting. Don’t you recognize it?”

Frowning, Harry tugged the book back and looked at it skeptically. “It is?” he asked. “How do you know?”

“I remember it from school,” Sirius lied.

“Why would Snape call himself the Half-Blood Prince?” Harry rubbed his forehead and then shut the book. “You know, last year he gave me a few Occlumency lessons. And he was actually decent the whole time. Then he got fired and when he came back this year it’s the same old Snape.”

“Raccoons don’t change their rings,” Sirius said wisely, only to amuse himself.

“Have you hit your head?” Harry asked and Sirius grinned. They walked out of the library together, discussing Harry’s upcoming Quidditch match.

That night, Sirius undressed and slipped into the shower with Severus. 

“I actually need to clean myself,” Severus said as Sirius’s arms wrapped around his chest from behind.

“Does the Half-Blood Prince mean anything to you?”

Very quickly, Severus shoved off Sirius’s arms to whirl around. Shampoo suds streamed down the side of his face as he said tightly, “Why do you ask?”

“Don’t be defensive,” Sirius said. “You know all my dirty little secrets.”

“Because you shared them with me. I didn’t go digging around to find them.”

“I wasn’t _digging around_. Harry has your old Potions book.” 

Severus was quiet for a moment and then sighed. “Of course. Albus forced me to allow him into my class despite only receiving an E. He must have given Potter the book out of the school supply.”

“That man does love to force things,” Sirius said and then, hopefully, “Can we talk about what a piece of shit he is now?”

“No,” Severus said and turned back to finish rinsing his hair. Sirius was about to admit defeat and climb out of the shower when Severus spoke again. “My mother.”

“Your mother,” Sirius repeated slowly. “The woman on your nightstand, right?”

“Yes.” Severus turned off the water but kept his back to Sirius. “Her name was Eileen Prince. She was a witch. My father was a Muggle.”

“And so that makes you the half-blood prince,” Sirius said. He placed a hand, gently, on Severus’s shoulder and when it wasn’t shaken off he moved forward to hug Severus once more. “You loved your mother?”

“She had a lot of failings,” Severus said and then, very quietly, “But yes, I did. Very much.”

“Tell me about her,” Sirius said. 

Severus did. They dried off and settled into bed and for nearly an hour he spoke uninterrupted about Eileen Prince - her intelligence and her capability but also her inability to thrive within motherhood and her total surrender to her husband.

Eventually Sirius spoke of Walburga as well and they stayed up far too late swapping stories.

“Listen to us,” Severus said derisively. “The unloved boys.”

“And look at us,” Sirius said. “We found each other.”


	21. Chapter 21

With the summer quickly approaching, Sirius thought the year might be able to end on a good note.

Yes, all the Death Eaters had broken out of Azkaban again. Yes, Severus was gone more nights than he was in bed. Yes, the papers were full of attacks and murders. Yes, Harry seemed to be getting thinner, paler, and more sleep-deprived each week. 

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised when everything went to shit.

One warning sign was when Dumbledore owled him. They had studiously avoided each other the entire year and so it had to be something serious to end the stonewalling.

The other suspicious thing involved Harry walking up to Sirius at breakfast and pressing a small bottle full of golden potion into his godfather’s hand. “Take this tonight,” he said solemnly. “Before you leave.”

Sirius spent the day wondering what Dumbledore could possibly want with him and why Harry would know and be concerned enough to give him Felix Felicis. It was all quite distracting and he ended up accidentally hexing a third year so that two massive horns burst forth from her forehead.

“Sorry!” Sirius called after her as she rushed out of class in tears. “Madam Pomfrey will fix you right up!”

After that, he played it safe and set reading for the rest of the classes.

He tried to find Severus before he went to the headmaster’s office but he was nowhere to be found. Sirius didn’t drink the potion Harry had given him; it seemed unnecessary. He did down two successive shots of vodka.

“You wanted to see me?” Sirius asked without pleasantries as he sat down across from Dumbledore. Sirius stared openly at the blackened hand, the one he always assumed Severus had gone to heal that night shortly before term started. He had never seen it from such a short distance. It looked like the charred flesh had begun to fall away, exposing the inside of the fingers in shades of pink and white.

“It’s an ugly thing, isn’t it?” Dumbledore asked, glancing down at his own hand. “No less than I deserve, I suppose.” The headmaster used his one good hand to slip his glasses off his face and place them onto his desk. Then he swung his gaze up to stare, it seemed, directly into Sirius’s soul as he said, “I think we all get what we deserve, in the end.”

“That’s ominous,” Sirius said and Dumbledore smiled.

“You always were clever.”

“Did you ask me here for this back and forth? Because frankly Severus is much better at it, I’d rather-”

Dumbledore didn’t let him finish. “I know you have removed yourself from the war effort and I know you teach here at Severus’s behest, not mine. So what I’m asking you to do tonight is purely as a favor - a favor to Harry and Severus, even, not a favor for myself.”

“What is it?” Sirius asked.

“There is a well-guarded object I must retrieve. Harry has worked with me all year to help uncover its location. He wishes to accompany me tonight but I’m afraid it’s too dangerous for such an important young man.”

“And I’m not important so might as well ask me.”

“That was my train of thought, yes,” Dumbledore answered steadily. “Or do you claim to be more important than either of the two you love?”

“Of course not,” Sirius snapped. “But why me? Why not another Order member?”

“Despite their best intentions, they all have their own alliances and loyalties outside the Order. Although you have forsaken it, you alone have the most motivation to see our efforts succeed.” Dumbledore picked his glasses back up and slid them on. He was smiling when he added, “And the only people you could tell about tonight’s events are already aware of the situation. Wraps everything up neatly, I think.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” Sirius said.

Once they’d stepped far enough into Hogsmeade, Dumbledore offered his arm silently and Sirius took it, though he wrenched his hand away the second his feet returned to solid ground.

They’d landed in a small cave, with a dark tunnel leading in one direction and a flat face of stone in the other. Sirius could hear, distantly, the crash of waves. 

Dumbledore didn’t speak as he walked up to the stone wall and pulled a knife out of his robes. He slipped the knife against the skin of his injured arm. Once blood began to well, he rubbed his arm against the rock. He left a dark non-descript smear that, had he not known otherwise, Sirius would never have suspected to be blood.

The wall glowed and within moments an open walkway stood where the stone had been. “Suppose I have to do the next one,” Sirius said. Dumbledore said nothing but continued down the newly revealed passage.

It spit them out at a lake, dark waters in an equally dark cavern, and Dumbledore stooped by the edge of the lake to grab at seemingly thin air. He mimed a few pulls while Sirius watched, bemused, and it was just as he was about to question Dumbledore that a boat slid out of the water and onto the shore. It was only then that Dumbledore spoke. 

“We will take this boat to the center of the lake.”

“How do you know all this?” Sirius asked.

“I came here previously,” Dumbledore answered. “That is how I knew I needed your assistance.”

“Oh,” was all Sirius thought to say and squeezed into the boat with Dumbledore. It was small enough that their knees pressed together as they sat, faces hovering uncomfortably close to each other. Sirius leapt out the moment the boat bumped into the rocky island. It was as he hurried out that he glanced down into the dark green water and saw Peter Pettigrew’s face under the surface, bloated and eternally staring.

“That’s-” Sirius tried but couldn’t finish his sentence. He pointed.

“Interesting,” Dumbledore said, stooping slightly as he inspected the corpse. “Last I heard the Ministry was in possession of his body. Voldemort must have, ah, procured it.” Dumbledore straightened. “To what end, I can’t say. Maybe he felt his own twisted sort of loyalty to Peter for helping bring him back to life. Or perhaps it’s his final punishment for failure - a body never at peace.”

“Definitely the second one,” Sirius muttered and forced himself to look away from Pettigrew. “What do we do now? I want to get out of here.”

“Nearly there,” Dumbledore said and Conjured a goblet which he passed over to Sirius. “The only remaining task is for you to drink the contents of that basin.”

Sirius stepped up to the bowl resting on a short column, the only structure on the small island. “Drink this?” he echoed doubtfully as he looked down at the shimmering liquid. “Why can’t we just Vanish it?”

“Time is of the essence,” Dumbledore said, irritation creeping into his voice. “Suffice it to say I did my due diligence. You must drink.”

“What is it?” Sirius asked even as he scooped up a gobletful. 

“We’ll know that shortly.” 

Sirius looked from the potion to Dumbledore and back again. He didn’t trust Dumbledore one bit and drinking the unknown substance in the creepy cave seemed like an awful idea. He shook his head. “Why don’t you drink it?”

“I’ve asked you to.”

“Well, I’m refusing,” Sirius said and tried to pass the goblet back. “This could be a poison for all I know.”

“Oh, it’s undoubtedly a poison,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, as though announcing he’d made biscuits for an after supper treat. Sirius tried to take a step back and found his feet wouldn’t move - nor his hands and shoulders; even his eyelids were frozen in place. 

Sirius feared Voldemort when he’d been called to Death Eater meetings. He’d gotten shivers and shortness of breath and heart palpitations and prayed to gods that didn’t exist. 

He only hated Albus Dumbledore. He hated him as he stood there frozen, knowing what was coming, and he hated him as Dumbledore forced poison down his throat. Rage boiled through him and most of it was reserved for the fact that Harry and Severus would never know what had happened. They’d continue serving his murderer and be none the wiser about it.

And underneath all of that, Sirius thought it might be a bit of cosmic justice. He’d killed Pettigrew and now he was being killed beside the corpse. 

Then, after a few gobletfuls, he wasn’t thinking at all. Pain like he’d never known coursed through him; each bone became a burning flame of agony, each tendon a blade slicing him apart from the inside out.

At times the pain would draw back like a stage curtain to show him Peter Pettigrew, standing over James’s body and laughing, stopping once to say to Sirius, “Isn’t this quite a way to die?”


	22. Chapter 22

“You should have come to me.”

“Sirius asked me not to.”

“What did that matter?”

“You know he doesn’t trust me. I was trying to repair that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Severus.”

“You _should_ have told me.”

“You’re right.”

“If he dies, I’ll never forgive you.” 

“Not dying,” Sirius croaked and at once he felt a hand on his. When he forced his eyelids open, his brain scrambled to make sense of the scene before him. The room was white, sterile - the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Severus stood on one side, clutching his hand, his face drawn and pale, fury and fear battling for dominance in his gaze. 

And on the other side of the bed, a respectful distance away, stood the man that had poisoned him.

So why had he brought Sirius back? He could have left him to die in the cave. Why was he looking at Sirius with such false concern?

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Severus said. “However, you’re far from out of the woods. The poison inflicted significant damage to all your major organs. We’ve managed to stabilize you but…” He gestured a little hopelessly. “I want to transfer you to St. Mungo’s but they’d have to know you’re under the influence of Polyjuice and it’s...”

“Too much of a risk,” Sirius finished, as firmly as he could manage considering his throat felt like it had been shredded by doxies. “Any one of the mediwizards could be a Death Eater.”

“Or become one later,” Severus agreed. He didn't sound happy about it.

Sirius looked at Dumbledore. He wanted to smother the life out of the old man and he tried to convey that without changing his expression at all. Dumbledore gazed back steadily. He either missed the message or was entirely unfazed by it.

“Can I be alone with Severus?” Sirius asked, expecting Dumbledore to refuse. Instead he only smiled and excused himself. The moment the hospital wing door closed, Sirius grabbed both of Severus’s hands and asked, urgently, “What did he say happened?”

Severus seemed thrown off by the question but he answered. “That you two have been working together for a few months and last night you went on an expedition, the nature of which he won’t divulge. Apparently there was some need for one of you to drink poison and you volunteered.” His features grew sharp. “Which was absolutely unacceptable, might I add. You two should have returned here, we could have figured something else out. And since when-”

“He’s lying,” Sirius interrupted bluntly. He didn’t want to waste what possibly limited time they might have. “I haven’t talked to him since last summer. He asked me to his office and took me to a creepy cave and forced me to drink that shit.”

Severus’s forehead creased. “As your body recovers, your mind-”

“No,” Sirius cut in once more. “That’s the truth, Sev. Give me Veritaserum or a Pensieve or cast Legilimens or whatever fucking thing that will make you believe me.”

“Sirius,” Severus answered gently, “all of those rely on your version of truth. If you have somehow hallucinated or created a false memory, we’d never be able to tell the difference.”

“What about this?” Sirius tried, biting back a litany of curse words. “Remember when you caught me in the Shrieking Shack?”

Severus tensed. “Yes.”

“And of course you remember what he did?”

“That was different,” Severus argued. “You were innocent. He wanted to save your life. If things happened as you say now, that would be him lying to cover up attempted murder.”

“It’s exactly the same.” Sirius released Severus’s hands and leaned back against his pillows. The little energy he’d had upon waking was already dwindling from the effort conversation took. He wanted suddenly and very desperately to fall back asleep. “He saved me because Harry knew I was innocent and he needed Harry’s loyalty. He tried to kill me because he knows he’ll never have mine. I don’t - I don’t know why he brought me here. Maybe to sell his story, stop you from digging. I don’t know.” Sirius covered a yawn with the crook of his elbow. “I don’t think I’m going to make it. I don’t think he’ll let me even if you fight the poison.”

“Shut up,” Severus snapped. “I know you love melodrama, Black, but you’re not dying. I’m not allowing it. And as to...the rest. We don’t need to figure that out right now. Just sleep. I won’t leave.”

Sirius couldn’t have stayed awake if he wanted. He nestled his head into the stiff hospital pillow and drifted back to sleep.

He didn’t dream. When Sirius woke, he was instantly aware someone stood at his side. He felt a knot of dread form in his stomach when he saw Severus had left, after all, and it was Dumbledore peering down at him.

“I told him the truth,” Sirius spat. “If I die-”

“There’s no if about it, Sirius. I never intended you to survive the journey back here. You looked dead enough and I was, I suppose, too squeamish to finish the job myself.” Dumbledore withdrew his wand. “I regret how drawn out this was. But don’t you see? Someone had to drink the poison. Who would you have picked - Severus or Harry?”

“Why didn’t _you_ drink it?”

“The wizarding world would fall apart without me,” Dumbledore said plainly. He pointed his wand. “I am glad Severus got to see you one last time. I know he’ll miss you.”

The thought of a grieving Severus tore Sirius up inside and he opened his mouth to ask, _Don’t you care about him at all?_

He didn’t get the chance.

“Avada Kedavra.” Then a flash of green light.

Sirius blinked. Albus Dumbledore lay on the floor

“You never saw this,” Severus said from the doorway and waved his wand, knocking Sirius once again back into sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

Albus Dumbledore’s body was found in his bed, dressed in nightclothes. The portrait to his quarters reported that he’d walked in unaccompanied the evening of his death and no one else had entered. The gargoyles that guarded his office also had nothing suspicious to report. A wizard’s unremarkable death was always investigated because there was no way to differentiate between that and a victim of The Killing Curse. But with Dumbledore’s age and the lack of any indication of foul play, his death was officially considered to be due to natural causes.

The rumors that Snape killed Dumbledore began immediately. The Slytherin students shared it as a brag and once the others heard they whispered it fearfully. No one was surprised that such a vicious person could commit the act. They were surprised he seemed to be getting away with it.

Sirius, still recovering in the medical wing, learned none of this. Severus didn’t visit and when Harry did, he plopped down in the chair next to the bed and went in an entirely different direction.

“Professor Dumbledore told me you two went after a horcrux,” he said without preamble.

“A what?” Sirius wiggled in the hospital bed to sit up straighter. A tray of food laid across his lap, forgotten in Harry’s presence. The boy looked as though he’d been awake for days, eyes rimmed red and hair impossibly rumpled. 

“So you weren’t? You didn’t go anywhere? He lied?” Harry asked urgently.

“We did but I didn’t see any - what is a horcrux?”

“It would’ve been something eye catching, something special. A piece of jewelry or a prized heirloom.”

“No,” Sirius said and Harry's face fell into lines of disappointment. “I only saw a cave and a boat.”

“Dumbledore must still have it,” Harry muttered as he swung to his feet.

“Wait,” Sirius tried but Harry dashed out of the hospital wing without a backwards glance.

He was discharged a few days after the students left - Pomfrey proclaimed it a miraculous recovery. Sirius expected Severus to be in their quarters and he was looking forward to reaming him out over his lack of visits. He also wanted to know what exactly had happened with Dumbledore and, despite still feeling like death warmed over, Sirius really wanted to take him to bed.

Severus was not there and neither were his belongings. He’d left six bottles of Polyjuice, a sealed vial containing a tuft of his hair, and an envelope. Sirius took the Polyjuice first - he was overdue as the first had passed while he was hospitalized. Then he opened the envelope.

The contents were a note and a locket. In the moments before Sirius read the note, he thought Severus had left the locket as a sentimental gift and he was both puzzled and pleased. Severus’s words dashed both emotions.

_Sirius,_

_I had to go. I will see you again before you run out of Polyjuice. I hope fairly soon._

_This locket was the only thing in Albus’s possession aside from his wand. I assume it’s what he retrieved from the cave. Hope it helps._

_All my love,_  
_S.S._

Stomach churning with concern for Severus - what was he doing that required him to leave? - Sirius picked up the locket and, looking at it more carefully, felt a jolt snap through his torso, like he’d missed the bottom step on a staircase.

He recognized the locket. How could he not? It was a plain and inexpensive locket that Regulus received for his thirteenth birthday, among many other presents. Neither of them cared for jewelry but on _his_ last birthday, Sirius’s hair had been forcibly cut. The contrast was stark. Regulus wore the locket daily from that point on, solely to rub it in Sirius’s face that he was the better son.

It hadn’t hurt him. Sirius hadn’t wanted to make his parents proud and he held no jealousy for his brother. All the favoritism only led him to a very early grave.

Still, it was strange to hold the locket over twenty years later, to know all that had transpired since their relatively innocent sibling rivalry. Regulus was so long dead that Sirius couldn’t even remember what he looked like. Sirius, meanwhile, the one that had tried to be “good” had spent twelve years in prison, escaped, been pardoned, and become a murderer. He couldn’t help but smile - a twisted, humorless smile - to think of Regulus’s reaction if he could know what his older brother had gotten up to.

Sirius picked the locket open and read the note inside. There was that word again - horcrux. And some sort of implication that Regulus had gone against Voldemort in the end.

Sirius didn’t entertain that thought. He couldn’t. So he focused instead on the fact that Harry would probably be very interested in the locket and the note.

Of course, Harry was gone, shipped off to the Muggles on the Hogwarts Express. Sirius remembered where they lived - he’d visited Harry there as Snuffles once before. But they’d always been ordered to stay away from Harry when he was with his relatives. Sirius thought about who had given those orders and decided he didn’t really need to follow them, after all.

With Severus gone, Sirius had no need to stay at Hogwarts over the summer. He packed his few personal belongings and went to stay at Grimmauld Place. The Order had long since selected a new headquarters, a place which Sirius happily had no knowledge, and so the house lay dusty and dormant. Kreacher stumped around insulting Sirius and simpering over Walburga. Sirius accordingly ordered him to not speak for a week.

After giving Harry a few days to settle in, Sirius Apparated close to Privet Drive and walked until he found Number Four. The house looked as though it had seen better days - but then again, what hadn’t lately?

Sirius knocked on the door. A very fat man opened it, looked him up and down, and slammed the door. Sirius thought he heard him yell something like, “BOY!”

Sirius opened the door and stepped inside the house. The entrance floors were a beige linoleum with a blue floral pattern, the walls a near identical shade. It was a boring house for a boring family. Sirius eyed the cupboard under the stairs and wondered if he’d get a warning for illegal magical use if he lit it on fire. The thought that Harry had spent the first eleven years of his life there…

“Sirius!” Harry said as he came down the stairs, surprise etched across his face. “What are you doing here?” The fat man was still yelling but he seemed content to stay upstairs for he didn’t venture down.

They settled onto sofas in an equally bland sitting room and Sirius pulled out the locket. Harry’s eyes took on an odd gleam as he pulled the locket from Sirius’s grasp.

“It’s not the Horcrux,” Sirius said and Harry’s eyes snapped up to his.

“So you _do_ know.”

“No. My brother left a note in that locket, said he took the real Horcrux.” Harry’s face lit up and he jumped to his feet.

“Your brother had the real horcrux? So it might still be in your house?” he asked, full of so much nervous energy that he started to pace. “We need to search the house. There’s a locket, it should have a big green S on it. If we can find it-” Harry broke off and spun to look at Sirius. “I still can’t tell how much you know.” 

“I really don’t know anything,” Sirius said honestly. “But I’m listening if you have anything to say.” Harry studied his godfather for a moment and then sat back down.

“Right. Horcruxes are a way to achieve immortality…”


	24. Chapter 24

Despite having been arrested and convicted, Sirius had never seen the inside of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s interrogation room before. It was small, dark, and held a singular chair which Sirius was forced into by the two so-called Aurors that had grabbed him at the Weasley wedding. Chains wrapped around his ankles and wrists, tighter than was necessary, he thought.

The Aurors (Death Eaters, Sirius knew) spat question after question at him. Why had he been at the wedding? What did he know about Harry Potter? What was Sirius’s blood status? Did he know the blood status of the other guests?

It droned on and on, long enough that Sirius grew tired even within the chains. He knew mouthing off would not help the situation and that these men could kill him without consequence if they really wanted to. But the more exhaustion built up in him, the more he struggled to control his words. The fact that he’d drunk liberally at the wedding - his first excuse to do so in a very, very long time - didn’t help matters.

“And you said you’re a Pureblood?” one of them asked for at least the sixth time.

“I’m Sirius Black. You’ve never heard of Sirius Black? Remember a few years ago I was all over the Prophet?” 

Before either man could respond, the door opened and Sirius had never wanted to kiss Severus more than he did in that moment. He also wanted to beat him around the head with a few Bat-Bogey hexes but kissing seemed a better first step.

“Snape,” one grunted. “How can we help?”

“This man is one of my professors,” Snape said smoothly, coldly. “I can vouch for his blood status. If you have no urgent questions, I have need of him at Hogwarts.” 

“Fine.” The second Auror waved his hand. “We’re done with him.”

Sirius held his tongue until they had travelled through the Ministry and out onto the streets. It had been announced in the Daily Prophet a few days earlier that the board of governors selected Severus as the new headmaster - undoubtedly at Voldemort’s direction. So as headmaster, Severus was able to take Sirius’s arm and Apparate them both directly to their old quarters in Hogwarts.

It was strange to be back in the room. Sirius could practically hear Dumbledore’s voice calling from the fireplace - how many dozens of times had Severus scurried out of this sitting room to answer his summons? Now the old man was dead and Severus would be answering to only one monster.

“You’re a shithead,” Sirius said. Severus’s mouth twisted.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Oh, don’t pull that on me! Where have you been? You kill Dumbledore and knock me out and disappear for a month and-”

“Sirius,” Severus interrupted.

“What?” Sirius asked impatiently.

“Wouldn’t you rather be inside me right now?”

“Yes. Of course!” Sirius said, tossing his robes to the side instantly. “But I’m going to yell at you later, don’t think you’ll get off that easy.”

“I’ll get off however you want me to,” Severus whispered and Sirius hurriedly stripped off the rest of his clothes.

He didn’t yell later. They fell into bed together and Severus wrapped him in his arms as he had so many times before. Sirius felt safe and comfortable, like the interrogation and the preceding month of lonely turmoil hadn’t happened. He didn’t want to ruin it.

“I missed you,” Sirius said instead of all of the admonishments he could have said.

“The Dark Lord needed me,” Severus said quietly. “Albus’s death opened many doors for him.” Severus ran a finger down Sirius’s nose. “The good news is I should have relatively free reign as headmaster. He knows I‘ll be busy with the school and with the Ministry under his thumb, he’ll be busy as well.”

“Remember when we had to time Polyjuice to when he called me - or you, rather?” Sirius tucked his feet under Severus’s calves. “Damn hard to believe we spent nearly a year in each other’s bodies. And so many months in separate quarters. We’ve made it through a lot.”

“The worst is yet to come,” Severus cautioned. “By serving as headmaster I’m publicly declaring my support for the Dark Lord. Especially after the rumors that I killed Albus, I don’t think the rest of the staff will be too fond of me. And the Dark Lord is adding a few Death Eaters to teach new subjects. It’s going to be a very precarious situation.”

“Can I still sleep with you at night?” Sirius asked and Severus rolled his eyes.

“Yes, dear,” he said with exaggerated patience.

“Then we’ll be fine.” Sirius hesitated a moment before deciding to plunge ahead and say, “You never told me what happened with Dumbledore.”

Severus instantly stiffened and the hand on Sirius’s hip tightened its hold. “He tried to kill you.”

“Yes.”

“He forced my hand.”

“He did.”

Severus pushed away from Sirius and sat up, staring off to the side of the bed. Sirius missed the contact immediately.

“I’m not proud of it,” Severus said in a low, raw tone. “Albus was...many things. He was a manipulator as you said. He was also a hero. He was complicated. I hated that - I _hate_ that it was me.” Severus swung his head to look at Sirius and his face was all at once intensely fierce. “But he tried to take you away from me. After he - he knew - after everything-”

Severus’s speech fragmented into silence. Sirius didn’t pry further. He only reached up and rested a hand on the back of Severus’s neck. “I love you,” he said. “You’ve done so much and worked so hard. You’re almost done now.”

“How?” Severus asked and his voice began to border on shrill. “I have to play headmaster under the rule of a man that wants to kill and imprison all Muggleborns. And the horcruxes-” Severus stopped speaking abruptly.

“I know about them,” Sirius said. “I destroyed one this summer, actually. With Harry.”

“You did?” Severus asked faintly. “What was it?”

“Slytherin’s locket. It was in Grimmauld Place the entire time, if you can believe that. All I had to do was summon it and burn it with some very carefully cast Fiendfyre.”

“You’re remarkable,” Severus murmured and then he was on top of Sirius, leaving heated kisses across his shoulders, then chest, then stomach as he continued moving downward.

Later, they slept. Sirius woke in the middle of the night and instead of flipping over to fall back asleep, he watched Severus. He couldn’t make out all the finer details in the darkness but he saw enough - the slope of his nose, his long dark eyelashes, a thin scar that started near his temple and disappeared under his hair.

Sirius had spent so long inside that body but watching it, he felt like it had never happened. This was just Severus, his Severus, the man that had killed for him. Sirius had killed for selfish reasons; Severus had done it to save a life. 

Severus did everything to save lives, really. He sacrificed and lied and tore himself into pieces to be the hero that would never get any recognition. 

Laying there, watching him, Sirius decided this year he wouldn’t care about the war and Voldemort. Harry had made his choice to go off and find the horcruxes. Severus had made his choice to walk the path of a double agent even when he could easily step off. So Sirius’s choice would be to focus on Severus. If pretending to be a Pureblood swot in public made things easier for Severus, then that’s what Sirius would do. If he needed backrubs, cold drinks, a place to lay down his fears - Sirius would do it all.

And if through some miracle they both survived the war, it wouldn’t stop there. Sirius would help him deal with the trauma, the loss, the regret. Maybe they would retire to another country. Maybe they would hide away in Grimmauld Place. Maybe Severus would want to run for Minister. Whatever it was, whatever he chose - Sirius would be there.


	25. Chapter 25

It surprised Sirius that life simply didn’t feel that different than it did before. His entire curriculum changed as he now had to teach Dark Arts rather than the defense against them. But the lessons felt the same - the students learned and misbehaved just as they did before, the younger ones scrabbled for points and the older ones focused on preparing for exams. He’d still pass by the staff room and hear Sprout laughing about something with Flitwick or McGonagall complaining about a particularly incompetent student.

There were, of course, some changes. Students, upper years and Gryffindors in particular, were prone to showing up to his class with bruised cheeks, black eyes, and small cuts on their arms. Severus tamped down that kind of punishment as much as he could but when, for example, Neville Longbottom stood up in the middle of Carrow’s class to yell _Fuck Voldemort_ there wasn’t really a way for him to protect them.

Sirius considered that it was only his own selfishness that made his life seem okay. He wasn’t under threat of pain or death so everything was fine. Nevermind Harry being hunted, off doing an impossible task. Nevermind the tortured students and the ones that simply disappeared in the middle of the night. Nevermind the possibility that Severus could make one mistake and be executed and replaced that same day.

It was easier to not think about all those things and so he mostly didn’t. 

He made it through the year like that. Not seeing what was wrong. Not fighting the injustice. Teaching his lessons, eating his meals, drinking more than was probably wise, and then going to his room and waiting for the late hour when Severus would slide in bed beside him.

He didn’t always manage to stay up. It was one such night that he’d drifted off to sleep early that he was shaken out of sleep.

“I have to go,” Severus said. The hand that shook Sirius stilled on his arm, gripping it with a certain air of desperation.  
  
“When will you be back?” Sirius asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I will be this time,” Severus said. “Get dressed, get your wand. The quarters should be safe if you want to stay here. Otherwise you can go fight.”

“Fight?” Sirius echoed. He struggled out of bed, shaking off residual sleepiness, trying to be alert and competent. “What’s going on?”

“I have my sources in Hogsmeade. Harry Potter will be at Hogwarts soon,” Severus said. “The Dark Lord has been falling apart for quite some time. I can’t - there’s no time to explain it all. I have to go. I only wanted to say goodbye.”

Sirius stood still for a second and tried to use that second to memorize as much of Severus as possible. But really, he didn’t need to. He knew every hair on his head, every wrinkle around his eyes, every scar and every mark.

“I love you,” Sirius said because it was all that mattered in the moment. He wanted to say it a hundred times. “Be safe.”

Severus nodded. Then he was gone.

Sirius stayed in the quarters for probably longer than he should have. When he’d been fresh out of Azkaban, he would have dashed straight into the fight. He would have relished the chance to take out some Death Eaters. Now he mostly felt that he didn’t care much at all. He wanted Severus safely back in their quarters. He wanted to sleep.

Eventually he dressed and ventured out to the Great Hall. As he walked, he heard some sort of booming voice, caught the words “Potter” and “one hour,” but the thick walls of the dungeon garbled the rest of the message.

In the Great Hall, he found a solemn scene. Bodies laid on the floor, grieving wizards clustered around them, and as Sirius stood there he caught sight of Harry. The boy looked utterly wild, filthy and distressed, and as he began to walk away from a crowd of sobbing redheads, Sirius hurried to catch up with him.

They met in the corridor outside the hall. Sirius noticed then that Harry clutched a flask full of silver liquid - memories, he would guess, from all the time he’d spent working with a Pensieve years ago. Harry saw him and said, dully, “I can’t talk, Sirius. I have something to do.”

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked and then, impulsively, “Have you seen Severus?”

“Snape?” A flicker of surprise managed to push through his deadened features but it went out quickly. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” It was Sirius’s turn to echo words but it was no mild surprise that ran through him. Horror would be more accurate. “How? When? Where?”

“Sirius,” Harry said firmly, borderline angrily, “I have to go.”

“Just tell me where he is, Harry. Please.”

“The shack,” was all Harry said before he turned and scurried away.

_He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead._

The words formed a steady beat in Sirius’s mind and it was all he could think. His body moved automatically - one moment he was in the corridor and the next he stood in the tunnel outside the Shrieking Shack with no memory of anything in between. The door stood slightly ajar and Sirius hesitated there a moment.

When he finally pushed the door open, he wished he’d stayed in the tunnel forever.

Before him laid a nightmare, one he couldn’t wake up from. There was Severus, sprawled on the floor and covered in _so much_ blood. It puddled around his body and while his throat in particular was slathered it had gotten everywhere - his robes, his cheeks, his hair.

Sirius knelt next to him and took his hand. The skin still felt pliable, warm, and the blood shone wetly. It had only just happened, this monstrous thing, and was that better or worse?

Questions ran through Sirius’s mind. How had he died? How had Harry known? Had _Harry_ done this? It didn’t seem possible but then, nothing made sense.

“Severus,” Sirius said, quietly, and it was only as he opened his mouth and tasted salt that he realized he was crying. “Severus, wake up.”

Severus didn’t, of course, and Sirius held his hand a moment longer. He lowered his body, as he had so many times before, to rest his head upon Severus’s chest.

He laid there a few seconds and then, sharply, sat up. Severus’s blood now coated the side of his face and he didn’t notice it at all. All he cared about, as he whipped his wand out of his pocket and levitated Severus’s body, was that he’d heard a weak, struggling heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t kill either of them off in this story but I have other stories where I do if that’s more your style.
> 
> Thanks for making it this far. We’re almost done!


	26. Chapter 26

The headmaster’s office looked different than it had under Albus Dumbledore. There were no spindly instruments or comfy chairs. In fact, it looked a bit like an unused storage room - empty save for a desk, a bit dusty and neglected.

Severus, he supposed, had been too busy to sit around in the room very often. And likely he didn’t enjoy being in what he had to still consider Dumbledore’s office. The friend he had killed.

The Pensieve sat glimmering on the desk just as Harry described. Sirius dipped his fingers into the liquid and felt, at once, the pull of his consciousness into a memory.

He stood in a playground and a jolt shot through him as he saw the little girl on the swings - Lily. She was younger than he’d ever seen her; this had to be before Hogwarts. He knew she and Severus had known each other before school. He watched little Severus desperately attempt to be her friend across several scenes, thwarted by his overeagerness and uncouth words.

Then they were on the train and Sirius felt a twist of nostalgia seeing the four of them so young, so naive. Discussing house preferences like it meant anything at all. 

“If you’d rather be brawny than brainy,” Snape said nastily.

Sirius watched his younger self snap back, “Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” and Lily and Snape flounced out of the compartment.

Sirius didn’t remember that moment. Looking at himself and James laughing, he guessed it had been too happy for him to hold on to. 

More scenes of Severus and Lily. Sirius wanted to grab the teenage Severus, shake him, and yell, “Give her some space!” He was so possessive, so poor at self-control, so insecure. Nothing like the man he would become.

Sirius watched as he and his friends bullied Severus by the lake. He couldn’t recall that day either, although he couldn’t say if it was because it was a good memory that had been lost or if he simply hadn’t cared enough to remember. It had been so commonplace, the hexing and insults. It was how they treated each other. 

When the scene shifted again, it showed Dumbledore towering over Severus as he spoke of the prophecy and pled for Lily’s life. _You disgust me_ , Dumbledore said, and Sirius felt a cold sense of satisfaction over how his life had ended.

More scenes with Dumbledore: Severus grieving Lily’s death and lamenting Harry’s nature - Sirius had to scoff at that one. For such a smart man he’d always been a fool when it came to Harry.

Then there was Dumbledore again, sitting behind his desk, while Sirius and Severus sat across from him. It was hard to tell who looked more furious. It was Sirius that spoke - but Severus in Sirius’s body, as was made clear the more he spoke. Sirius felt almost like he was looking at children again - they’d been so stupid and petty.

The next memory tore at Sirius, for the simplicity and peace and the fact that they might never share such moments again. He and Severus sat on the sofa - each leaning against an armrest to face the other, Severus grading papers and Sirius taking notes out of a book. So this had to be them in each other’s bodies, before Sirius had been fired and confined to his room. 

Severus-inside-Sirius stood and crossed to the kitchen. He poured a glass of wine and carried it back to the sofa where he offered it to Sirius-inside-Severus. As the glass exchanged hands, they kissed.

Things shifted. It was only Severus and Dumbledore in this memory. Dumbledore sat while Severus kneeled beside him, tending to the hand he’d injured. They talked about things Sirius didn’t fully understand - more about the horcruxes, Deathly Hallows, and someone named Ariana. 

Dumbledore said, “Since it seems increasingly unlikely I won’t survive this year, there is something I must tell you, Severus. Something I won’t enjoy saying and you won’t enjoy hearing.”

“That’s nothing new,” Severus scoffed, leaving Dumbledore’s side to sit in a chair. “Well? What is it?”

“Harry Potter is a horcrux,” Dumbledore said simply. “An accidental one, created the night he survived Voldemort’s Killing Curse.”

“But then - he has to die?” Severus asked, quiet and rigid.

“He has to die,” Dumbledore agreed. “When all the other horcruxes are destroyed, Harry will be the last.”

Sirius was thankful he’d already heard this from Harry, thankful it was several days past the battle and he knew everything had turned out okay. But his heart ached for Harry, hearing Dumbledore say his fate so plainly. He had been brave - braver than Sirius could ever claim to be. If he’d received the same message, would he have walked into that forest to meet certain death? Likely not.

“You must tell him,” Dumbledore continued. “Not too soon, only when the end is near. If there comes a time he seeks the horcruxes, which I expect he will, then you must assist in any way you can.”

“Of course I will,” Severus said.

“Lily would be thankful,” Dumbledore said and Severus twitched in his seat.

“Lily?” he repeated, frowning. “She - what does that have to do with anything?” 

“Isn’t she the reason for it all? Why you protect Harry, why you stay in my service?”

“I haven’t thought about Lily in years,” Severus said quietly. “I mean, I do. That poor girl. But she had a husband, a family. It’s been - it’s awful, what happened to her, the things I did to her, but that’s not why.”

“Then what is?” Dumbledore asked. He sounded genuinely puzzled, a rare tone out of him. 

Severus sat quietly for a moment and then pulled out his wand. “Expecto patronum,” he said softly and Sirius expected the doe he’d seen years before. Instead a large black dog lumbered out of the wand, padding around the room for a few moments before glimmering away into nothingness.

“For him?” Dumbledore asked and his face twisted sourly. “Of all the things I don’t understand about you, Severus, this is certainly the most mystifying.”

“Then you’ve never been in love,” Severus said, stowing his wand away. 

Sirius reached out to touch him but as it was only a memory, his fingers slipped through Severus’s skin like it was a bowl of water.

The scene changed. Sirius stood in the hospital wing, looking at his past body tucked up inside a bed. He looked impossibly frail and thin, closer to a corpse than a living breathing human. Dumbledore stepped into the room.

A shock of horror quickly replaced the sappy feelings the last memory had created. If he was watching this then Harry had seen it too. Harry knew Severus had killed Dumbledore. Why hadn’t he said anything? Was he waiting for Severus to recover only to have Aurors drag him off in chains? The thought of Severus in Azkaban was unbearable. It simply couldn’t happen. Sirius would stop taking Polyjuice and take his place, gladly.

The scene unfolded exactly as Sirius remembered - Dumbledore pointing his wand, Severus hurtling in at the last moment and shooting that green light at Dumbledore - his own body slumped in the bed, knocked out by Severus’s spell.

Severus stepped over to Dumbledore’s body and Sirius was startled to see Severus’s eyes were wet. “Why?” he asked the dead man, voice raspy and harsh as the unshed tears began to trickle down his cheek. “Why did you try to take him from me?”

There were a few more brief scenes - Severus helping Harry along the past year, moments Sirius had known nothing about. 

The last memory faded and Sirius stood back in Severus’s office. He took a moment, absorbing all that he had seen. Then he pulled out his wand. Strand by strand, he lifted the memories out of the Pensieve and placed them in the flask that still stood next to it. When he was done, he replaced the cork and stored the bottle in his robes.

No matter what happened next, he would always have the memories.


	27. Chapter 27

A month after the Battle of Hogwarts there was a grand memorial ceremony. A small stone marker was handcrafted for each person that died fighting against Voldemort. The names were etched into the stone and painted black so once the markers were placed out on the lawn, the names of the heroes could be easily read.

Sirius had already lived through one war that killed nearly an entire generation and, looking at the markers, he realized this was the second. Remus’s name flashed at him in the sun, Tonks right next to it. He spotted Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown - more of his former students than he cared to count.

When Minerva, the new headmaster, finished her speech, Sirius wound his way through the crowd and found Harry. His arm was wrapped around Ginny Weasley as she cried into her sleeve.

“I know this isn’t the best time,” Sirius started, softly. Harry looked at Ginny as she pulled away from him, wiping her face as she did so.

“It’s fine,” she said. Even with the tears, she sent a significant look toward Harry. “I know you two need to talk.”

So they fell into step together, traveling far enough from the crowd that they couldn’t be overheard. It was only then that Sirius said, “We never talked about Severus.”

“We did not,” Harry agreed but said nothing else. They walked in silence for a few minutes more. “What is there to talk about?”

Sirius came to a stop and Harry did the same. They faced each other. Harry was still so young but in that moment he didn’t look it. He was intimidating with his piercing stare and the unforgiving set of his mouth. There was only one way forward, though. Sirius had to just say it.

“You know what he did.”

“I do,” Harry said.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, the question that had haunted him since he’d stepped out of the Pensieve.

“Why do you think he showed me that?” Harry asked back. “I’ve been wondering and you know him better than me. I thought maybe it was an accident, that he was dying so he pushed out what he could. But knowing Snape - I think even at death’s door he would be capable.”

Sirius wanted to smile - that was how he saw Severus too - but he was too nervous about where the conversation could go. He only hummed in agreement and then said, “I think the guilt has torn him up ever since. And that his dying wish would be for some sort of absolution.”

“That sounds right.” Harry looked away, back towards the crowd of mourners that were now small forms against the horizon. “I think it was pretty clearly justified defense. Don’t you?”

Sirius’s legs almost gave out as relief coursed through him, powerful and swift. “Of course I do. That was the second time Dumbledore tried to kill me, Harry. But-”

“I’ve seen enough of our Ministry,” Harry interrupted. “I know there’s no such thing as justice when it comes to them. Look at what they did to you, to Stan Shunpike, to Luna’s dad. If I reported that Snape killed Dumbledore in defense of you, you think they’d hold a fair and impartial hearing? No. They’d toss him in Azkaban for life and publish headlines about how they put away the murderous Death Eater. Especially right now. They’re desperate for anything to show they’re stamping out the remaining Death Eaters.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said because it was all he could say. He wanted to fall to his knees and say it while kissing Harry’s feet but he had a feeling Harry wouldn’t be impressed with that.

They resumed walking, back towards the crowd this time. Harry asked, “Has he woken up, then?”

“No,” Sirius said, talking as evenly as he could and not as though the answer tore his heart in two. “The mediwizards are still keeping him in stasis. But you know what’s odd? He hasn’t taken Polyjuice and he still looks like himself.”

Harry shook his head. “The whole body switching thing does my head in. When Snape’s better, I can’t wait to tell Hermione. She’ll probably make it her life’s mission to figure out what happened and how to fix it.”

 _When Snape’s better_. The words drove hope and fear through Sirius. He wanted to believe Severus would get better. He’d sat at his bedside in St. Mungo’s each day for any kind of progress. So far there had been little.

“You know what I’ve been wondering?” Harry asked, somewhat slyly. “Did you two ever, _you know_ , in each other’s bodies?”

“You know,” Sirius snorted, welcoming the distraction. “I can’t answer that question if that’s still the kind of language you use.”

Harry glanced around furtively and his cheeks reddened slightly as he whispered, “Have sex, is that better?”

“Oh, Harry. How I have failed you as a godfather! But don’t worry. There are many nights of debauchery in our future.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Severus, could you possibly move any slower?” Sirius turned around to growl. Hermione, walking at his side, squeaked and cast an anxious look backwards.

“That’s not very nice,” she admonished in a hushed voice. “He’s still, you know, recovering.”

“I’m going to put him back in the hospital if he makes us miss breakfast. There’s only fifteen minutes left before they start serving lunch!”

“I assure you,” Severus said as he limped closer, speaking in that raspy, barely audible voice he now had thanks to Nagini’s fangs, “you won’t suffer for missing a meal.” He poked a finger into Sirius’s gut.

“You two worry me,” Hermione said with a shake of her head.

They reached the Muggle restaurant with five minutes to spare. Ron, Harry, and Ginny were already seated; the boys flicked straw wrappers at each other while Ginny colored a child’s menu.

“Finally!” Ron cried when he saw the approaching trio. “What took you so long?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Sirius said, pausing at the table to help Severus lower himself into the booth. “It’s all Severus’s fault. He thinks because he almost died he can get away with anything.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “What do I get for actually dying?”

The meals had been Sirius’s idea. After his release from St. Mungo’s Severus became reclusive, borderline agoraphobic. He moped around Grimmauld Place, barely moving, and spoke only to make short demands - _water_ was all he’d say, or _food_.

So Sirius contacted Harry, cajoled him into giving Severus a chance, and somehow the six of them had fallen into a monthly tradition of meeting somewhere to share a meal. It was the only time Severus left the house and the only conversation he had with someone other than Sirius. But it had done wonders for his overall mood and energy. It was a start.

They always went to a Muggle place - Harry couldn’t take two steps in the wizarding world without being accosted. Sirius didn’t mind being in the Muggle world, especially when it meant seeing Severus’s ass in denim jeans.

“So,” Hermione said, once they’d all gotten their meals, “I still have no idea how you two switched bodies.”

“And I beg you, please ask her to stop trying to figure it out,” Ron put in. “Can’t tell you how many nights she’s stayed up over this.”

“It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?” Severus asked.

“You would say that,” Sirius snapped, though without real venom. “ _You_ got your body back.” 

It was true. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Severus’s brush with death had returned him to his body. Whether it was Nagini’s bite interacting with the potion or some other reason entirely, Severus no longer had to take Polyjuice.

Using the vial of hair he’d left behind the summer before, Severus was able to replicate Sirius’s strands and continue making Polyjuice for him. Sirius made sure to take it a few days early each month because he did not think the world ever needed two Severus Snapes.

“I only meant it worked out for the best,” Severus said and Sirius had to smile. He took Severus’s hand.

“Yes it did,” Sirius agreed.

“Will I ever get used to this?” Ron muttered rhetorically and from the hiss of pain he made after, someone had kicked him under the table. Sirius would bet on it being his sister.

After the late breakfast they said their goodbyes outside the restaurant and walked to their separate destinations - Ron and Hermione to their car, Ron’s preferred method of travel after his splinching incident, and Harry and Ginny to a quiet unseen spot to Apparate back home.

Sirius and Severus went for a walk through the Muggle town, arm in arm. They window shopped, chatted about the book Severus was in the middle of, and made several unflattering observations about passing Muggles.

“Are you sure you don’t want to continue teaching?” Severus asked during a comfortable lull in the conversation. 

“I don’t need to,” Sirius said with a shrug. “There’s still plenty of the gold the Ministry gave me when they overturned my conviction. Besides, I want to be with you, and I think we both know you’ve had enough of Hogwarts for a lifetime.”

“Several lifetimes,” Severus agreed. 

They made their way home shortly after, Sirius side-along Apparating Severus. They had to side-along because one last effect of nearly dying: Severus seemed to have lost his magic completely. The mediwizards reported no magical energy and, though he’d tried many times, he wasn’t able to so much as shoot sparks from his wand.

It was why Hermione had come over before breakfast. She’d run tests and experiments, ending up just as stumped as the mediwizards. 

Severus never talked about it so Sirius didn’t bring it up either. In some ways, he thought no magic might be a relief to Severus. He’d done awful things with it and had awful things done to him. No magic might just mean, finally, peace.

Sirius’s only regret about it was that he’d never had the chance to see Severus scampering around as the raccoon. But in another way, he rather enjoyed that. The creature had been his buddy in his time of need and, it seemed, would never be more than that.

They settled down together in front of the television set - Harry had introduced them to television and now they were both quite obsessed. They watched all kinds of things - old movies with no color, foreign films with subtitles, and endearingly enough Severus had a penchant for childish cartoons.

“You pick,” Sirius said and handed Severus the remote. Then he leaned over and snuggled into Severus’s side, placing his head in just the right spot to feel the heart thrumming inside his chest.

Every time he listened to Severus’s heartbeat, he remembered finding him in the shack. The blood, the crumpled limbs, the cold horror of thinking he’d lost the best part of his life. And that tiny struggling little heartbeat that had said - _Th_ _ere’s still hope. There’s still a chance._

Sirius took a delicious joy in listening to Severus’s heart as it beat now - strong, steady - and when it spoke it wasn’t just a possibility but a promise fulfilled: 

I’m here. I’m alive. And I love you.


End file.
